


The Impetuous Engagement

by thefandomsinhalor



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Baking, Cabin Fic, Christmas, Dean Winchester Has a Crush on Castiel, Engaged Castiel, M/M, Mechanic Dean Winchester, Sharing a Bed, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 03:40:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 27,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22370419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefandomsinhalor/pseuds/thefandomsinhalor
Summary: It’s early December and Castiel Novak, quite unlike him, is on a plane to Fairbanks, Alaska, at the other end of his world, after the man he met online, Michael Milton, proposed to him. Michael is sensitive, gallant, and romantic, and after months of daily, intense correspondence, Castiel believes he’s the only one who he ever truly connected with.On his way there, however, due to a series of bad luck and Mother Nature, Castiel somehow finds himself stuck in a small village, in the middle of nowhere, cut off from the rest of the world and with no way of reaching Michael. Indefinitely.To make matters worse, Dean Winchester, Castiel’s fellow passenger—who asks way too many invasive questions, doesn’t have an ounce of subtlety, and isn’t as charming as he thinks he is—seems to be the only option for Castiel to find shelter in the meantime.And Dean, being acquainted with the fiancé in question, and aware that he is not to be trusted, is very eager to help Castiel with housing, and perhaps something more as well…
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 32
Kudos: 180
Collections: Destiel Harlequin Holiday Cheesefest Challenge 2019





	1. Chapter One: Fairbanks Flight

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second entry for the harlequincheesefest challenge! massive thank you to the mods for their patience and help. Like, really.  
> I hope you enjoy it!! I had a lot of fun with this :D

Aboard the smallest plane he had ever set eyes on, Castiel truly wondered if this last minute arrangement was a big stupid mistake.

The plane was grounded, waiting for take-off, because of the two passengers registered for the flight, one was still missing. And since said passenger was a personal friend of the pilot, the latter had requested a bit of patience from Castiel.

“Sorry, _cher_. My friend is running late. But he’ll get here.”

Castiel nodded and shut his eyes, focusing on his breathing. He had had many steps back on his journey. Cancellations. Overbooking. Lost luggage. Traffic. So many issues.

But here he was. Almost at the finish line. One more little delay was nothing to worry himself with. After all, not even an hour ago, his situation had seemed hopeless. Due to some incident with another airline, the Garrison Airline was now the only option for many travelers, including Castiel, and with nearly every flight already overbooked, and this, _before the incident_ , it had then rendered it impossible for Castiel to reach his destination. Too many people, like him, had been desperate to get their hands on a seat, so they had put their name on a never-ending waiting list for stand-by, and were roaming around in the crowded Juneau International Airport.

But now, things were looking up for him. He was aboard a plane. And even if this last-minute accommodation was slightly worrisome—given the plane in question—it would get him to destination. And that was all that mattered.

Soon enough, the mysterious passenger finally arrived. Wearing a thick, puffy coat and big boots, the man ran to the pilot, who had stepped outside, and after a short exchange of words, they boarded the plane.

And when his eyes fell on Castiel, the man turned around to look at his friend, who simply signaled him to take a seat already, as they needed to get going.

Just as the pilot had done for Castiel’s backpack, the man carefully installed his luggage, a green duffel bag, on one of the two free seats left, and dropped into the one next to Castiel.

Once seated, he leaned his head back and took a deep breath, relieved to have reached the plane in time, deduced Castiel. The man then turned his head to the right, now studying Castiel. It wasn’t until that moment that Castiel realized he had been flagrantly staring at him, so he gave him a shy smile and shifted his attention to the window, even though there wasn’t much to see yet, besides the landing runaway.

“Hey, there,” he heard in his headphones, nearly making him jump. Castiel turned his head once more and noticed that his companion was now wearing the large headset.

He was also smiling at him. He then presented his hand. “Dean Winchester.”

“Castiel Novak.”

And they shook hands. Maybe a little longer than Castiel deemed acceptable, but Dean had kept hold of his hand, looking him straight in the eyes. Almost as if he was trying to read Castiel’s mind. Finally, when Castiel got his hand back, Dean fetched something from his pocket. A silvery flask.

“It’s for the nerves,” explained Dean, with a mischievous smirk on his face. Taking a sip from his flask, he then offered it to Castiel.

He made a face and pushed it away from him.

“No, thank you.”

“Suit yourself.”

Now that their missing passenger had finally arrived, it didn’t take them long before taking off, and once in the air, as he was gripping the arms of his seat, Castiel then exhaled in relief to be on his way, at long last.

“First time in Alaska?”

Castiel, trying his best to ignore the stress gnawing at his stomach, shot a glance at his fellow passenger, and nodded. “What gave it away?”

“Your thin trench coat. I hope you brought more layers with you than that.”

Castiel let out a nervous laugh.

“So, Castiel—that’s your name, right?” he asked, and after Castiel nodded, confirming his hypothesis, he then said, “What brings you to Alaska? How did you get roped up into this ride? And where are you from?”

Castiel paused a moment. “That’s a lot of questions, Dean.”

“Right. It’s just—it’s gonna be a while before the next stop and, as much as I appreciate the view, I’d really love the distraction too.”

“Are you a nervous flyer?” asked Castiel and before Dean could answer, he heard Benny laugh heavily at the front.

Dean cleared his throat and said, “I’m fine. But the conversation would help. So, like I said, where are you from? And what brings you here?”

Castiel was not particularly in a talking mood, but he guessed that Dean might have a point. The flight from Juneau to Fairbanks was a few hours, and the pilot had warned him they were to take the scenic route, as he was scheduled to drop off a few things and stop for refueling along the way. Thus, short of staring at the scenery below, no matter how gorgeous, Castiel figured that he would soon get bored as well. Even if he managed to reach for his book, which was neatly packed away in his backpack, he knew that reading during the whole flight would probably not be possible, as he had only less than fifty pages left. Certainly not enough content to stretch for a couple of hours.

He shifted in his seat to properly face Dean and said, “I’m from Chicago.”

“Wow. That’s…not from around here.”

“No. It isn’t,” said Castiel, nearly laughing.

“And how did you end up on this flight if you’re from Chicago?”

“Last minute trip. Everything else was booked. I arrived in Juneau yesterday afternoon and I’ve been on standby ever since. I was told I’d probably be good today on a more, um, commercial flight…but there was still nothing. This was the only flight leaving for Fairbanks today that still had room on it.”

“Fa—and you picked this tin can to do the trip to _Fairbanks_?”

“Hey! Watch it, Winchester!” said the pilot.

“No offence, Benny. You know what I mean.”

“I—I didn’t have a choice,” repeated Castiel. “I really didn’t want to wait another day.”

Dean stared at him a moment, and then said, “What’s so urgent?”

Castiel opened his mouth to answer his question, but the words died in his throat. Unbeknownst to him, Dean had dived right into a much deeper topic than Castiel was comfortable discussing as mere chit-chat.

So, he did the only thing he could think of. He redirected the subject onto Dean.

“Why did you?” said Castiel. “Chose this flight to Fairbanks over the others, I mean. The pilot mentioned you were friends. Is that why?”

“Oh, I’m not going to Fairbanks,” said Dean. “I’m heading to Tulpa.”

Castiel frowned at him.

“It’s one of the stops on the way to Fairbanks,” he explained. He then took a moment to observe Castiel’s face, and then said, “You’ve never heard of the place, have you?”

“No,” admitted Castiel. “Sorry.”

“S’okay. Unless you’re a pilot, not very many people know about it. Especially not people who aren’t from around here.”

And Dean, still staring at him, helped himself to another sip from his flask. As he twisted the cap back on, he said, “Anyway, it’s certainly unfortunate that’s not your stop.”

“Why?”

Smiling at the corner of his mouth, Dean said, “I would have loved to show you around.”

Castiel tried really hard not to frown. He sometimes had difficulty reading certain social cues. But as far as he knew, this had been a come on.

“Thank you, but that will obviously not be an option.”

“Yeah. Like I said, _unfortunate_.”

The way Dean was eyeing him, which was nothing if not very suggestive, made Castiel feel incredibly uncomfortable, and this for more than one reason. And just as he was weighing his words to express his uneasiness, Dean then added, “I guess I’ll have to make due with right here, then.”

And with this, Castiel was officially annoyed. “I—I’m sorry, Dean. I should warn you. I’m engaged.”

“Engaged.” He hadn’t said it as a question or a negative comment.

Nor cheerfully either.

“Yes,” said Castiel. “He’s—my fiancé is the one I’m visiting in Fairbanks, actually.”

Dean blinked.

“Huh.” His eyes fell on Castiel’s left hand. “No engagement ring. I mean, I know men don’t typically wear them, but I think we just proved that it should definitely be a thing, no? I always found that really odd, you know?”

“That men don’t wear engagement rings?”

“Yeah. I mean, not, like, the diamond ones, although if that’s your thing, who am I to judge. But I mean, even if it’s a simple golden ring, why is it that men only wear those after they are married? Not that I’m an expert on the subject, but the point of an engagement ring it is to let people know you’re spoken for. Why don’t men do this too?”

Castiel had to admit that he had never really thought of it that way. Then again, up until three days ago, he had never really dwelled too much on the topic of marriage, engagement or wedding rings before either.

“All I’m saying,” continued Dean, “is that if I were engage to someone as handsome as you, that’s not something I’d want to keep under wraps. It’s something I’d scream over rooftops.”

Castiel stared blankly at him. And at his expression, Dean smirked. “What? Too forward?”

“Perhaps a little, yes. I appreciate the compliment—I think—but you do understand why I shared that information with you, right? It was to let you know that _I am_ spoken for.”

“Yeah, I got that. Doesn’t mean I can’t compliment you on your appearance.”

“Done in that fashion, it does mean just that, actually,” argued Castiel.

Dean’s expression appeared to have turned serious for half a second. But as soon as Castiel discerned it, it vanished and his smug smile was back. “Damn. And I was just getting started too. As I’m positive your attributes don’t end with your physical appearance alone.”

Castiel pursed his lips and shot him an annoyed look.

“But now, I’m curious,” said Dean, clearing his throat. “What’s your fiancé's name?”

“Michael Milton.”

Dean’s expression had been unreadable. Namely because he didn’t seem to have one. He wasn’t shocked. Nor joyous. Nor angry. Nor confused.

But he stared at Castiel for a long time, as though he was hoping to spot a lie.

“Milton,” he finally said. “Like _the_ Michael Milton. The guy who owns everything and everyone, _Michael Milton_?”

Taken aback by his insinuation, Castiel objected, “No, he—what? What do—he doesn’t _own_ anybody. Or everything.” He paused a moment, as anxiety rose in his chest. “What do you mean?”

“I mean that if you live in this state, your ass answers back to Milton, one way or another. Everybody knows that.” Dean lifted an eyebrow at him and said, “Are you sure you’re engaged to the guy? How did you two meet? Engaged to someone with such influence and charisma, there has to be a good story there.”

Castiel flinched. “Are you suggesting I’m lying?”

“Not you, handsome. But somebody is,” said Dean in an earnest tone.

And it had sounded so sincere, it made it impossible for Castiel to doubt his words. His anger, which had been slowly boiling up within him a second ago, was now gone.

And all he was left with was worry.

“So? How did you two meet?”

And then, perhaps anger hadn’t been completely gone either.

“Right. Because you’re actually interested in this?” he snorted at Dean.

“I am very much interested.”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

“Come on, man. Please? I really want to know.”

Castiel bit on his lips. With the exception of his long-time friend and business partner, Gabriel, Castiel had made a point to not openly discuss this subject. He had encountered too many people with harsh opinions about this already, but at the very least, none of their criticism had been directed specifically towards Michael.

Until now, that was.

“Castiel?”

“It’s a long story, but we met online.”

And while Dean had many follow-up questions, Castiel had left it to that, as he judged that this was all Dean needed to know.

Of course, there had been another very important detail that Castiel had kept to himself.

Like the fact that although he and Michael had been interacting multiple times a day, on a daily basis, for more than half a year, they had in fact never met in real life.

Not once.

A fact that, oddly enough, Castiel had found himself forgetting at times, given how close he felt to Michael. Aware that it was somewhat unusual, even in a digital age, Castiel had never been bothered by it, however.

At first.

Obviously, he and Michael had often talked about meeting in person. And fantasizing about a life together had become a recurring occupation for Castiel as their relationship blossomed. And so it had been for Michael as well. But these types of conversations, however blissful, soon brought a glum side to their relationship, because all it did in the end was to remind them of the fact that they were not, indeed, living together. And given that they lived at opposite ends of the country and each were accountable to their responsibilities, the possibility of their situation turning in their favour was not plausible.

And this fact had been weighing on them increasingly, so much so that nearly a week before Thanksgiving, Michael had ceased all communications. Out of the blue.

For ten days.

At first, Castiel had been worried something horrible had happened to him. But given who Michael was, it hadn’t taken Castiel very long via social media to see he was safe and sound.

And that was when Castiel knew. Michael, _Enochian51415_ , had reached his limit. And unable to say goodbye, he had simply faded into the background, and finally did what Castiel had been unable to do for so long.

But after ten days of complete silence, of depressing and deep yearning, Michael had come back.

With only one question.

Considering how torturous those ten days had been for Castiel, no matter how impractical and insane, he had accepted Michael’s proposal.

And now, three days later, he was finally going to stand in front of him. At long last.

Despite the fact that Dean was obviously feeling loquacious, and that Castiel had reasoned that simply staring out of the window would eventually get dull, he nevertheless remained quiet and decided to simply enjoy the stunning view from above, while the two friends carried on with their conversation. He took in the impressive scenery, miles and miles of nearly untouched nature, of trees, lakes and rivers, of mountains and hills, green and snowy, which was so overwhelming, enough to make him feel insignificant.

Nearly an hour into the flight, the plane landed in a remote and very snowy location for refueling purposes. It was also, to Castiel’s relief, Dean’s destination. So, even if this intermission would once more pause his journey, he at least was looking forward to not suffering through Dean’s inquiries and awkward comments for the rest of the flight.

But as fate would have it, Castiel would not be rid of his annoying seat companion just yet.

Not long after their landing, Castiel had exchanged a short and polite goodbye with Dean. Just like when they had introduced themselves, Dean had lingered around, staring at Castiel for a long awkward minute, during which Castiel had been worried he would spit out vile words against Michael again.

But he did not.

He gave him a firm nod and hoisted his duffel bag over his shoulder, and Castiel watched him walk towards a small cabin—the one the pilot had disappeared to on their arrival—which was not far from a larger building that Castiel could only deduce to be a hangar, based on its large doors.

Snow was falling and he took a moment to stretch his legs, filling his lungs with the fresh air, and admired the white scenery surrounding him while pilot Lafitte was tending to the plane. With the ground untouched but by fluffy snow and tall, thick trees all around, the view reminded him of photographs he used to attempt to replicate when he had begun painting.

Feeling the wind grow stronger, he turned on his heels and headed back towards the plane, where the pilot shared unfortunate news.

“Sorry, _cher_ ,” said the pilot, retrieving Castiel’s small backpack out of the plane. “But it looks like we aren’t leaving just yet. There’s a storm coming on us at full speed, and a massive one at that. Considering we’re not even halfway there yet, and how quickly the storm is gunning for us, it’s best to wait it out.”

“But—for how long—no, I—everything was fine when we left. You said—there wasn’t any alert for heavy storms or anything anywhere near our trajectory. I know I checked.”

The pilot gave him a sympathetic look and said, “I know. We were supposed to be spared, but Mother Nature turned on us, as she often does.”

Castiel stared at him, as his stomach dropped.

“What am I supposed to do? I—sir, I really need to get to Fairbanks and I—I don’t even know where we are,” he said looking around him helplessly as if the scenery would have changed in the last few seconds.

“You’re in Tulpa,” to which Castiel gave him a that-tells-me-nothing look. “The town is about three miles from here. You’ll be fine. Just go to the main building,” he said, pointing at the small cabin, “and they’ll have more information for you on the situation and how they can help you.”

Castiel pursed his lips, obviously not thrilled at this prospect.

But he nonetheless gave the pilot a firm nod, thanked him and did as he had told him.

Once inside, he shook his coat and hair to get rid of the snow and took a moment to observe the interior.

It wasn’t reassuring.

There were a couple of wooden chairs on the left. A reception desk facing the door. A small television hung high on the wall and, given its blue screen, it suggested that it wasn’t working properly. And beside a public bathroom, that was pretty much it.

He swallowed hard and advanced to the desk.

“Hello,” said the clerk, without lifting his eyes from his old paperback book. “What can I do for you?”

“Um, hi. I was one of the passengers flying with pilot Lafitte.”

“Welcome to Tulpa,” he said in a monotone voice, still staring at his book, turning a page.

“Thanks, but I was on my way to Fairbanks.”

The man simply nodded.

“And now,” continued Castiel, “the pilot has informed me that the plane cannot leave because of a storm. I was hoping you could tell me when exactly it will be possible to leave?”

The man lifted his eyes. He stared at Castiel for a moment, truly looking at him for the first time, and then shifted his gaze to his notebook in front of him. He sighed, typed a few keys on his keyboard, looking dissatisfied, only to return his eyes on Castiel. “Don’t know. Depends on the weather. The plane won’t leave until the weather clears. Which won’t be until tomorrow morning if I’m to believe this,” he said, nodding at his screen. “At least.”

Castiel’s heart dropped.

“The morning?”

“Yup. But son, even if the weather miraculously clears up in a few hours, which it won’t, knowing pilot Lafitte, this delay won’t make him want to rush to Fairbanks now. There are still two more stops before reaching Fairbanks, and because of the delays, who knows what other problem is gonna surface outta this. And there are always problems coming out of this. So, basically, even if you managed to leave this place tonight, you'll probably end up being stuck at your next stop for the rest of the night anyway. Either way, you’re not reaching Fairbanks tonight. Sorry.”

Annoyed, but determined to not give up, Castiel picked up his phone, wanting to update Michael about his new obstacle, in the hope that an alternative would manifest itself as well.

But he froze when he noticed the “No service” at the corner of his phone.

No calls. Or texts. WiFi. Nothing.

He took a deep breath and asked the clerk if there was a way he could reach someone in Fairbanks.

“Sorry, everything is gone,” he said, pointing at his computer screen and the television. Not that we have much to start with, but…besides the radio, which is to use in case of emergency, everything else went dead because of the storm.”

Castiel frowned. “The so-called storm isn’t even here yet. And weren’t you on your computer just now?”

“Yes, to check if we had the Internet back. We don’t. And like I said, what we usually have is still very limited in terms of coverage on a good day, and since half an hour ago, it is now _no longer_ a good day.”

Castiel shut his eyes, frustrated at finding himself in the exact situation he had attempted to avoid that very morning. It was bad enough that he was yet again delayed to meet Michael, but now, with no way of contacting him, Castiel feared that Michael might misinterpret it for Castiel having cold feet.

“I know you said we can’t reach anyone personally…well, anywhere…but will—I mean, I was supposed to meet someone in Fairbanks. Someone is waiting for me. I—I just want to make sure they know I’m safe and why I’m—”

“Why you’ll be late for dinner?” said the clerk, almost amused. “Don’t worry. Already sent out the word via radio the moment Lafitte decided to stay grounded. Fairbanks and company will know what’s what.”

Which wasn’t nothing.

But still a very small comfort to Castiel.

Then another thought came to his mind. “Um, since I won’t be able to leave until morning, where am I to stay until then? Like, do you have, um, a motel or…”

The clerk began laughing. “ _Motel_? We have lodgings at best. But not in this season.” And the clerk, assessing Castiel’s upset expression, then added, “Oh, boy. You really don’t know where you are son, huh?”

“Um. No.”

“Uh-huh. Well, I’m afraid that motels and lodgings are not an option. With half the town—if you can call it that—being gone this time of year, I’m afraid you won’t have much to choose from. You’re welcome to stay here, at the station, until the morning if you want, but I would advise against it.”

Castiel looked up at the ceiling, feeling completely defeated.

“Surely you must have another option? I—where is pilot Lafitte staying?”

“At Lenore’s, no doubt,” said the clerk as though it was the most obvious thing ever.

“And who’s that?”

“His friend. Do you have one of those around here?” the clerk said.

“Maybe I could help you out,” said a voice coming from behind Castiel.

Not having realized that someone else had joined them in the small cabin, he turned briskly and found Dean standing in front of him, with a smirk on his face.

And it took about everything Castiel had to not groan at him.

Having a good idea of what Dean was about to suggest, and wanting to hear none of it, Castiel, against his better judgment, asked Dean, “What was that?”

“I’ll let you crash at my place for the night. I already offered Benny a lift tomorrow morning. You can’t leave this place without Benny and he can’t leave without me bringing him to his plane.”

“You expect me to just follow you home?” said Castiel, crossing his arms over his chest. “We just met. I don’t know you. We’re in the middle of nowhere. You could be a murderer for all I know.”

Dean opened his mouth as if he was about to argue, but shut it quickly, having a change of heart. He pondered on his answer for a second, and then said, “Look, it makes no difference to me. No matter what, I’m heading home and I’ll be coming back here tomorrow morning. You can stay here, under the cold neon lights, with only the most uncomfortable chair to sit on and nothing to do but stare at the wall. But,” he continued, shifting on his feet, “I’m offering you the option to come to my place, where you’ll have food, coffee and a bed. If it was me, I’d pick the latter, but you know. It’s up to you, handsome.”

And after staring at him for a long minute, Castiel sighed deeply and grabbed his backpack, convinced he was making a mistake.


	2. Chapter Two: One Cold Night

After their short drive from the station to Tulpa, Dean parked the truck in front of a cabin, which was three cabins down from the general store. Pilot Lafitte, or Benny, as Dean kept calling him, thanked his friend for the lift and wished them both a goodnight, before turning on his heels promptly.

Dean and Castiel retrieved their bags from the cargo bed, and before leaving in their turn, Dean tucked the keys into the glove compartment, shut the door and nodded at Castiel to follow him.

“You—why did you do that?" asked Castiel, catching up to him. "Aren’t you worried someone might steal it?”

“No,” said Dean, chuckling. “They can’t steal it.”

“But you left your keys in there.”

Dean stopped. “This isn’t my truck.”

“I—what? Whose is it?”

“Everybody’s.”

And at Castiel’s puzzlement, Dean smiled brightly and continued walking.

As they made their way to Dean’s cabin, one thing became very clear to Castiel: the town of Tulpa wasn’t what he would have considered a town at all. It was less than a village. Not even a hamlet.

It was an isolated and depressing place. At the center of it was one restaurant and a general store. And the rest consisted of cabins of various sizes.

That was it. No hospital in sight. No factory. No theatre or coffee shop. Bookstore. Gym. Not even a school.

One restaurant and a general store.

Both of which were closed.

In the middle of a Thursday afternoon.

Which was not very inspiring to Castiel.

But after a strenuous twenty minute walk in thick snow, they finally reached Dean’s cabin at the edge of town. Far away from the rest.

And although that fact also brought Castiel some worry, he nonetheless was grateful to have found shelter, as the wind was biting by the time they had reached his door. Much like the other cabins he observed on their path, Dean’s cabin was square and rustic, with small windows—to help with insulation thought Castiel—with no civic number or a mail box. It did appear to be larger and higher than some of the other cabins, however.

Dean retrieved another set of keys from his coat pocket, unlocked his door, and let Castiel step in first.

Castiel tapped his feet harshly on the small porch, hoping to get rid of most of the snow before entering, and hastily slid inside.

“Home, sweet home.”

The living quarters were rather restrained, but Castiel was pleasantly surprised how the place was actually very cozy and charming. Given the plainness of the cabin’s exterior, not to mention the overall isolated location, Castiel had expected the cabin to hold the bare minimum.

But Dean’s cabin was homey. The kitchen, though small, still held a decent sized fridge, an oven and a stove, and even counters and cupboards, and a small kitchen table smack in the middle. Right next to it was the living room, which consisted of two tiny and worn-out armchairs, facing a fireplace. A bookshelf rested against the adjacent wall, not far from one of the armchairs. And on the opposite wall from the fireplace, namely the right side of the cabin, were three doors separated by equal distance, giving the idea that the cabin was, just as Castiel had suspected, a perfect square.

A backsplash of white tiles was on the kitchen walls, and large grey stones consisted of most of the wall where the fireplace was, but for the rest, the walls were made of warm wooden panel, which added character to the place.

Dean pulled a chair from the kitchen table. “Here. Sit. You look tired. Keep your coat on for now, I’ll start up the fire and we’ll make something to eat. You’ll feel better after that.”

While Dean quickly inspected the cabin to make sure everything was in order, Castiel did as Dean had suggested and took a seat at the table. He then noticed a note on the table.

Heya Dean!

Thanks for letting me stay at your place for the last couple of weeks. I really needed that. Everything is working as it should. No problems with the plumbing either, though you were right about not lingering in the shower for too long.

It was tricky, but I managed to snatch a few things at the store for you before leaving. I nearly had to wrestle old Devereaux for it, but he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

There’s leftover stew in the fridge. If you managed to get here on Thursday like you planned, it should be good until Sunday, no problem. Enjoy!

Donna xxx :)

Just as he was about to inform Dean about the note, Dean plucked it from Castiel’s grasp, with a worried expression.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to snoop,” said Castiel.

Once Dean had read the note, and realized that there weren’t any personal details in it, the tension in his shoulders lessened.

Which rendered Castiel extremely curious as to what on earth had Dean so worried he might have uncovered about him.

Dean smiled quickly and said, “I’ll check that stew Donna was talking about. I started the fire in the living room. If you’re cold, you can go warm yourself up a bit, but the place should get less nippy pretty fast after I get started with the stove here too.”

Castiel nodded. “Can I do something to help?” he asked, taking off his scarf.

“Nah. I won’t have much to do here. Don’t worry.”

And the curiosity getting the better of him, Castiel asked, “Who’s Donna?”

He saw Dean smile at the corner of his mouth as he was eyeing the contents of the fridge.

“A friend.”

Which, as far as explanations went, hadn’t been as detailed as Castiel had hoped. A fact that Dean understood once he took a look at Castiel’s expression.

“Donna used to be my neighbor a while back. She lived across the hall from my apartment. Last year she moved in with her boyfriend, but we still kept in touch. About a month ago though, she broke up with him and said she needed a change of scenery. I rarely use this place in the winter, so I suggested she could come here if she wanted.”

And it wasn’t until that very moment that Castiel realized, to his shame, that he had never asked Dean where he lived and what had been the purpose of his trip.

For some reason, he had assumed that Tulpa was where Dean lived. But obviously, that was not the case.

Dean retrieved from the fridge a large orange pot with a lid over it and rested it on the counter. He checked something on the panel next to the fridge, and then turned on the stove. Satisfied that it worked, he then placed the pot over it, but only after he had lifted the lid and taken a whiff of its contents, to make sure the food was still good.

“That was very nice of you to do that for her.”

Dean shrugged. “It’s the least I could do. Donna’s helped me out more than once for way more. I was just glad I was the one who could do something helpful this time around.” He took off his coat and said, “Want something to drink?”

“Just water for now, please,” said Castiel. He paused a moment, and then said, “I—where do you live exactly?”

Dean looked away from the fridge and lifted an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry. I’m aware I should have asked before. And about your trip.”

“It’s all right.” Dean handed him one of the two bottles of water he grabbed from the fridge, as he took a seat at the table with him. “I live in Juneau. And I’m actually here for my Christmas vacation.”

Castiel frowned after he had taken a sip of water. “But it’s—today is only the fifth of December. Do you have the rest of the month off?”

“God, no,” said Dean, laughing. “Yeah, I wish. No, I—quite miraculously, I managed to get two weeks’ vacation in December, just not _at_ Christmas. Never thought I’d get two weeks, not even _in_ December, so I made the mistake of not making any plans. But I got it. Just, you know, earlier than planned.”

Then he took a deep breath and leaned back in his seat, twisting the bottle with his fingers.

“The thing is, I share an apartment with two other guys back in Juneau, with loud and annoying neighbors on top of that. I didn’t really feel like sticking around in my living room for two weeks, especially since I had access to this place. Where everything is quiet and literally nobody is gonna bother you. So, I called Benny, asked if he was scheduled to fly to Tulpa within that period and voilà.”

“You mean, you got a free ride?”

Dean choked on his water. “Hell, no. I didn’t mean—look, I’m sure a lot of pilots are great and everything, but I know Benny. I know he won’t be stupid and take unnecessary risks. There’s plenty of dumb people who wouldn’t have wanted to stay here tonight—which, fine, I kinda get it—but given the weather, it would have been pretty stupid considering everything. Weren’t talking a light snowfall here. Every pilot worth their salt can manage that. I—anyway. Sorry, I’m digressing. Just…Benny is a good guy and I trust him. Flying has never really been my thing. You can access this place by road, but it takes forever and you still need the proper vehicle to do it. Which…anyway, in the winter, flying is the best way to get here.”

“Yes, and—I also meant to ask about this—what is this place exactly?”

“Tulpa? It’s a fuel cache, but mainly it’s a touristic place in the summer. It’s very popular for hunting and camping. That sort of thing. The town makes its income for the whole year with that one season. That’s why I usually rent the cabin in the summer, and only come here in the spring and fall if I can.”

“And how did you get this place?”

Dean smirked. “You mean, why would a guy spend money on a tiny cabin in butt-kiss nowhere town with limited access when he can barely afford a crummy apartment with two other insufferable roommates?”

“Well, I—actually what…but now that you mention it…”

“The cabin used to belong to my dad. Almost…ten years ago now,” he said, tilting his head, pondering on the matter, “yeah, about that. Almost ten years ago my dad moved here and became the town’s mechanic.”

Castiel bit his lips, hesitating on his next question. Given Dean’s choice of words, Castiel had a good idea what Dean was implying here, but he decided to ask his question anyway.

“When you say _used_ to belong to your dad…”

“He passed away a couple years ago. Heart attack. And he left it to me.”

“I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s all right. But thanks. I think he wanted me to sell it so it would have helped me out in getting a better place to live but not that many people want to buy this place. And honestly, even with that, I would much pref—anyway. I decided that at least if I rented it during the summer that would be helpful enough.”

Dean lifted himself from his seat to check on the stew. Warmth was definitely spreading around the room, as Castiel realized he was no longer shivering and his trench coat felt like an unnecessary layer. As he shed his coat, his phone fell out of his pocket and slid on the floor. Groaning, he picked it up and pressed on the home button to verify if he had damaged it.

While his phone appeared to be in perfect condition, he noticed the “No Service” status was still at the corner of the screen.

“Dean?”

“Hmmm?” he said, stirring the stew.

“Can I use your phone? I mean—do you have service? Or Wi-Fi?”

Dean paused his movement for half a second and then continued his task at hand. If Castiel had blinked, he would have missed it. “I don’t, sorry.” He tapped the wooden spoon on the edge of the pot and rested it on the counter, before turning to Castiel. “What you can get here in term of coverage is very limited. On a good day and if you can afford it. I don’t stay here often enough to invest in that. I mean, the fact that I’m planning on staying here for more than ten days is really something. Usually it’s just a long weekend here and there. And all I do is pretty much relax and enjoy the tranquility. If I were into hiking, hunting or heavy outdoorsy stuff like that, yeah, obviously for safety measures I’d do something about it, but I don’t do any of that. My dad used to have a satellite phone, but he lived here the whole year. And even then, I remember it barely worked half the time. And it, um, got damaged not long before he died. So, if I really need to call someone or just check base with them while I’m here, I usually ask one of the neighbors.” And guessing what Castiel was about to say, Dean reminded him, “But because of the storm, even if I had one, or we go to one of the neighbors and ask for help, we know it’s pointless right now. Trust me, if all they had working back at the station was the radio, nobody here has something stronger than that.”

Wrapping his hand around his phone, Castiel nodded and lowered his eyes. He wondered if by now Michael knew he wouldn’t be able to make it until the next day.

Since he wasn’t supposed to arrive at Fairbanks until late into the night anyway, which would have been hours from now, Castiel deduced that, at the very least, Michael still had plenty of time to learn about his new scheduled arrival.

He deeply hoped, however, that Michael wouldn’t get discouraged by this new delay. And as Castiel himself was struggling with it, communicating with Michael would have been reassuring for the both of them.

He felt his throat tightening. And the pit in his stomach grow.

“You okay?” asked Dean.

Castiel shifted on his seat, and after clearing his throat, he said, “Yeah. I’m just—one text or email would have given me peace of mind.”

Dean stared at him for a long minute. Castiel wasn’t sure if he was waiting for him to elaborate or if Dean himself was weighing on what to say, but he eventually grabbed the spoon again, and refocused his attention to the pot, which had begun to simmer.

Without turning his head, thus keeping his eyes on the pot, he said, “I’m sorry I can’t be of help. But it’s only one night, right? You’ll be back on track tomorrow.”

And while this had been the mantra Castiel had repeated to himself during his entire disastrous journey, he sensed that his patience was soon approaching its limit. But he appreciated Dean’s input, so he thanked him and told him that he was right.

Watching Dean at the stove, Castiel then gathered that perhaps he had been a bit harsh in his assessment of Dean’s personality.

Castiel took a deep breath and stretched his arms and his back, suddenly feeling a wave of fatigue. He stood up, grabbed his backpack and said, pointing at the doors, “Which one is the bathroom? Actually, can you tell me which one is my room too? I’ll just drop my stuff if you don’t mind.”

Dean let go of the spoon and turned around swiftly. “Um, yeah. So, about—about that…”

Castiel’s whole body stiffened.

“So, the first one’s the bathroom. And the—the middle one, that’s an office.”

Castiel stared at him.

“So, that’s the only bedroom,” he said, pointing at the last door. “And as you might have guessed, there’s, um, only one bed.”

And just like that, Castiel decided that his initial opinion of Dean hadn’t been wrong after all. In fact, it had been spot on.

“And you didn’t think it would be important to let me know this _before_ bringing me here?” he told him.

“It’s just for sleeping,” argued Dean, smiling at the corner of his mouth.

Which did not amuse Castiel one second.

“Worried you might be tempted?” said Dean.

“I’m not the one I’m worried about,” said Castiel, nearly scowling.

“Well, I’m nothing but a gentleman. So, there’s nothing to worry about.”

Castiel pursed his lips at him and turned around, scanning the place, desperate for an alternative. “You don’t have a cot or—what about in the office?”

“The office is, well an office,” he said, laughing.

He stepped forward, past Castiel, and opened the door and turned the light on. The room was practically the size of a broom closet. A small desk had been shoved in there and was buried under a large amount of paper and files. While this room might have served as an office at one point, with the fishing rods hanging on the walls and other hunting and camping equipment resting against the desk, it was obvious that Dean was using it as a storage room. And by Castiel’s calculation, even if the room would have been cleared out, there was no way a bed—or cot— could have fit in there.

“I don’t have a cot,” said Dean, shutting the door. “There was no reason for me or my dad to get one.”

Castiel frowned. “What about when you visited your father?”

“We rarely came here. My brother and I, I mean. Dad was the one visiting us. And on the very few occasions I came here, it was always during summer when lodging was possible. And even then, as you can tell, this is pretty close quarters here. Even for one person, let alone two.”

And even though everything Dean had said made perfect sense, it still had not solved Castiel’s problem.

“What about the one of the armchairs,” he suggested. “Are you gentlemanly enough to sleep there and leave me the bed?”

Dean let out a laugh. “Um, I don’t think it’s about how much of a gentleman I am or not. This,” he said, waving his hands at the armchairs, “has to do with bravery at this point. If you’re brave enough to attempt this, it’s all yours. I’m certainly not brave enough and I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“Why? It’s an armchair.”

“A very small one. Have you tried sitting in it?”

Castiel let go of his bag and waltzed towards one of the armchairs. They didn’t seem that bad to him.

At first.

But the moment he sat in it, feeling the stiffness of the chair, Castiel had to fight down the urge to immediately shift in his seat to find a better position.

He was sure he wouldn’t find one.

“What about the floor then?”

“Um, no. Don’t—even if you sleep with all the blankets I have, and the clothes you own, you’ll freeze.”

“Not if I stay close to the fireplace,” argued Castiel. “Unless you’re the one who—”

“No,” said Dean, shaking his head. “I’m not sleeping on the floor. And I can’t make you, but I seriously urge you to not do it either. I offered my bed. Which is not nothing.” And then, he leaned on one leg and said in a playful tone, “Besides, for all I know, you’re the one who’s gonna try something.”

Castiel snorted. “Yes. That will be the day.”

The rest of the day was spent—mostly—in silence. Castiel and Dean helped themselves to Donna’s delicious stew.

They ate quietly and Castiel tried his best to not act as an ungrateful guest, but he feared that he was failing. Exhausted and annoyed, Castiel wasn't feeling particularly chatty.

The stress of his last couple of days were finally catching up to him and the prospect of the sleeping arrangement bothered him.

To say the least.

And while it was obvious that Dean desired to converse with him, as Castiel felt his stare on him, Dean remained quiet. In fact, besides looking at him, perhaps a little too intensively for Castiel’s taste, Dean pretty much left him alone.

And Castiel appreciated greatly that Dean had the good sense to not push this awkward situation too far.

Soon after their meal, while Dean took care of the dishes (which he had insisted on tending to on his own) and then went for a quick shower afterwards, Castiel rested quietly in the living room, reading the rest of his book.

He also checked his phone every ten minutes in case the service would magically become available.

But, of course, without any luck.

Later that night, Castiel stubbornly set himself up with a lumpy bed on the floor using a bunch of blankets. Respecting his decision, Dean had helped him as best he could. Even if he evidently thought Castiel was being silly for going through with his plan.

Thus, wearing the warmest pajamas he had brought along with him, _and_ a thick jumper, lying over three thick blankets, Castiel snuggled himself under a warm duvet, not too far from the fire.

Lying on his back, he sighed.

Dean, who was standing over him, studied him a moment with a mild grin on his face.

“What?” hissed Castiel.

“Nothing. Just making sure you’re comfortable.”

“I am.” He stirred a little bit, fixing his pillow.

Dean did not look convinced.

Castiel expected him to throw another snide comment at him, but he did not. Instead, he said, “Okay, well, good night, then. Hope you sleep well. And if you change your mind, you know where I’ll be.”

He gave him a cocky smile and left him.

And Castiel let out a groan of exasperation and turned his back on him.

Unfortunately, it became clear to Castiel that Dean had been right on the matter. While he succeeded, so far, in keeping himself warm by the fire, the floor, despite the multiple blankets, was extremely uncomfortable.

The wind was screaming outside. And being so close to the crackling fire was anything but restful. It also made him sweat.

Swearing under his breath, but determined to stick to his plan and prove Dean wrong, he then dropped all his blankets on one of the armchairs.

He attempted many positions. Perfectly seated. On his side. Or with his legs against his stomach.

But nothing.

All he achieved was twisting and turning, repositioning his blankets, and getting more aggravated with each new position.

His feet, fingers and nose were frozen.

And angry, he knew he would never fall asleep. Not if he stayed there.

But he stewed on his last option of having a good night’s sleep, asking himself why it was bothering him so much.

Was it because of Dean?

Or that it seemed improper?

Or was he worried about what Michael might think of this? What _would_ Michael think of this?

Castiel wasn’t that old-fashioned and he supposed that if the situation had been reversed, and that nothing would happen between them, there wasn’t a reason for alarm.

And yet, it still bugged him.

It was probably because, even if everyone remained respectable and kept their hands to themselves, he had a feeling that Dean would somehow enjoy it. Castiel could already see the smug grin on his face, looking at him as though he had won one over on him.

And that might give him the idea that more could happen as well.

And that was not, under any circumstances, acceptable.

Obstinate, Castiel remained in his spot for another five minutes, attempting to convince himself that he would be fine. But when his teeth began chattering, he sighed deeply, pushed the covers off and dashed towards Dean’s bedroom.

Dean was cozily snuggled up in his thick covers, lying on the right side of the bed.

Hesitating one last time, Castiel bit his lips and eyed the living room. And then, knowing that he needed to get over it, he stepped towards the bed. The moment he grabbed the covers, Dean stirred. With the moonlight over his face, Castiel discerned that he was looking straight at him.

“Do. Not. Say. Anything.”

A massive cocky grin appeared on Dean’s face.

Just as Castiel had expected.

And Dean pushed the covers, inviting Castiel to slide in.

Castiel let out a deep and exaggerated sigh, and climbed onto the bed next to Dean. But before pulling up the covers, he hastily put one pillow in-between them as a statement. Dean lifted an eyebrow, but stayed quiet. Castiel settled himself properly, pulled the covers up to his chin and turned his back to Dean.

Without a word.

And stayed still.

Ignoring his heart pounding.

Castiel felt the mattress shift, as Dean adjusted his pillow and covers. He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. The bed was comfortable. The thick and heavy covers were warm. He could feel the tension leaving his shoulders and his teeth were no longer chattering.

The situation had considerably improved.

But he was still cold. His feet and fingers hadn’t warmed up yet. He put himself in the fetal position and hid his fingers under his armpits to keep warm.

And then his teeth began chattering again.

“I know how you could get warmer.”

“I’m sure you do,” snarled Castiel at him.

And the next thing Castiel knew, Dean pulled the covers off.

“Hey! What are you—”

“Relax,” said Dean. “I’m not gonna do anything.” There was a short pause and then he added, “Unless you’re not opposed to it. I mean, that would really speed up the warming—”

Castiel jumped out of bed, ready to leave the room.

“I’m kidding! I’m kidding!” said Dean, with a hand lifted in protestation.

“Are you? Because this isn’t funny, Dean.”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I really just want to help you out. If you let me. No shenanigans,” he said, making the sign of a cross over his heart. “I promise.”

Castiel, after shooting him an angry look, climbed back on the bed. But he remained seated.

“Are your feet cold?”

“Yes.”

“And sweaty?”

“What?” he turned to Dean, puzzled.

“Are your feet sweaty?” he repeated. “I know it’s weird, but just answer the question.”

Castiel moved his toes and said, “Yes.”

“Okay. Take off your socks and lay on your back,” Dean instructed him, as he got off the bed and headed towards the dresser.

Perplexed, Castiel did as he was told. After reaching his side, Dean dropped two pairs of socks on the nightstand, and he handed him a beanie hat.

“Um, it’s not my head that’s freezing.”

“It will help you with your body heat,” said Dean as he began fixing the sheets and blankets over him.

“But—”

“Just—trust me?”

Confused as ever, Castiel, nonetheless, followed Dean’s instructions. “Lie on your back and cross your arms over your chest.” Once Castiel had done so, Dean fixed the sheets, pulling them up to Castiel’s chin, layer by layer, and covered Castiel with an additional heavy and cozy blanket on his torso.

Dean then grabbed one of the pairs of socks he had dropped on the nightstand and sat at the foot of the bed. “Okay. Now, just changing your socks is a huge help, but it will probably take a while. I swear, I’m not trying to pull anything. But body warmth is the best. So, if you let me, I’ll warm up your feet.”

Castiel nodded, and after lifting the sheets at Castiel’s feet, Dean repositioned himself on the bed. And Castiel felt warm hands wrap his feet gently.

And it was like an instant relief.

The whole concept was, of course, weird and Castiel tried to not overthink it too much. However awkward it might have been though, it was working. Dean moved his hands from time to time, not rubbing, but simply taking hold of his feet from another angle, thus spreading warmth equally over them.

And soon enough, Castiel stopped shivering, his body felt heavy and keeping his eyes open was difficult. When Dean assessed that Castiel had sufficiently warmed up, he then put on the dry pair of socks on Castiel’s feet and readjusted the blankets over them, making sure Castiel was tucked in properly.

“Is that better?” he asked, standing over him.

“Yes. Thank you.”

Dean gave him a nod. “There’s another pair here,” he said, pointing at the nightstand, “in case you need to change it again during the night, but you should be good.” He walked around the bed and slid himself under the covers.

And left the pillow in-between them.

“Night, Cas.”

“Good night, Dean.”

The next morning, Castiel was briskly awoken by the loud alarm on Dean’s phone. He had been confused at his surroundings at first, until Dean’s face popped up in front of him with a smug expression.

“Morning, handsome,” he said.

“Morning,” croaked Castiel.

“You lost the hat. Nice hair.”

Castiel rolled his eyes.

The next half hour was spent much like their evening of the night before. Namely, in silence. And with Dean beaming at him.

While Castiel was undergoing his morning routine in the bathroom, Dean prepared some coffee and made a quick breakfast for them, which they ate in a flash.

And soon enough, after dressing themselves warmly, and Dean had glanced outside from his door window, they were out the door, heading towards the center of town, through the thick snow. As though they had teleported to Dean’s cabin, their traces in the show from the day before were gone. Walking in the snow was not executed without effort, and while the wind was still powerful, Castiel comforted himself that the sky appeared to be clear, at least.

It is unfortunate to say, however, that Castiel’s good fortune ended there, as the issues began piling up one after the other.

Firstly, the truck they had used the night before was gone. Castiel couldn’t understand how Dean hadn’t foreseen this possibility as he had deliberately left the keys for anyone to grab. And yet, Dean wasn’t too perturbed by this and argued he could simply borrow someone else’s.

Which they did.

The other problem was that, when Dean had asked a fellow neighbor for this particular favour, through the town’s gossip, he learned that Benny, the pilot, had been the one who had taken the truck.

And so, even if he had desperately attempted to remain calm and not jump to conclusions, once they reached the station—very slowly considering the road had been plowed rather sloppily—Castiel learned of the terrible news he had feared: the pilot had left Tulpa without him.

With Dean at his side, Castiel stared down at the clerk, the same as the day before, demanding an explanation.

“But you said—when did he leave? How could he leave without—it was the pilot’s idea to regroup at around seven thirty!”

“Looks like pilot Lafitte had a change of heart,” he said, turning a page from his book.

“BUT I’M STILL HERE.”

“Sorry. You snooze you lose.”

“Are you—” And Castiel bit his lips hard, before he lost complete control.

At Castiel’s exasperation, Dean stepped forward and said, “Rufus, come on. This isn’t like Benny. He would have told us, or at least warned us, if he had changed his mind. What happened?”

“The weather happened.”

“But it’s clear now,” said Castiel.

“Not for long,” announced the clerk. “Based on the last weather update,” he said, tapping on his desk, “it’s going to get real bad, real fast. Lafitte came by earlier just to start up his plane and to see if the coms were back on. They aren’t. The WiFi is still down. Everything is still down. Except the radio, and when he was here, I received an emergency broadcast announcing the other storm. So, like I said, he had to make a decision. If he wanted to leave, he had to do it now. Even if he could have called you to inform you of the situation, you wouldn’t have made it in time and leaving would still have been risky. He, um, has people to answer to, and I guess he figured bringing the plane to the destination without comprising the client’s safety was the better option for the both of you.”

Castiel took a deep breath. “Look, I’m not trying to be above the rules, I just—” and then he stopped talking all together and decided that none of this was worth it.

So, he just focused on the important part: getting himself out of this place.

“When is the next flight coming in? After the storm, I mean.”

The clerk frowned. And then burst into laughter. Castiel turned to Dean for answers, but Dean was looking at the ground, shifting on his feet. Once the clerk had regained control of himself, he put down his book and leaned in on the desk.

“Yeah, listen up. Given that peak season is way behind us, and that there’s barely a hundred of us here, there’s not much traffic coming in. Short of needing to refuel, or an emergency landing, nobody comes here. And until we regain access to our usual communications, there’s not much we can do.”

Castiel swallowed hard. He turned to Dean and said, “But you came here. Obviously it’s not impossible that people—I—”

“The only reason I was able to make it was because it was already on Benny’s itinerary, remember? Just like how you opted for the flight only because it had the same destination.”

Castiel took a moment to process all the information he had just been given. “Okay, so…what are you saying? That hasn’t answered my question about the next flight.”

“There’s usually a plane that brings in new supplies on every other Friday," continued the clerk. "One was supposed to come in today. But with the storm, there’s no way that's gonna happen now. And beyond that, there’s honestly no way to tell. And besides that, unless someone schedules a trip out of the blue, the only other flight passing by will be—funnily enough—Lafitte coming back from Fairbanks, a week from now. If the weather allows it.

“But—but I—” Castiel began laughing nervously. “I’m sorry, I can’t stay here for a week! I need to—someone—I’m expected in Fairbanks! Like, yesterday!”

“Sorry.

“There has to be a way! What about a car? After the storm.”

The clerk shifted his gaze to Dean an instant, and said, “Sure. Do you have one? Because we got no rentals here. I can promise you that.”

Panicking, Castiel grabbed his phone, even though he knew it was pointless. “No service” was still at the corner of his screen.

“And you really don’t have the Internet? Satellite phone? A TELEGRAPH? What about—”

And then, the lights flickered for a few seconds, before shutting down completely. All three men held their breaths, waiting for the lights to return. And thankfully, it did after a pregnant pause.

The clerk typed on his keyboard and Dean shot a look at the television on the wall.

But still nothing.

The clerk stared at them both and said, “I think it’s time for both of you gentlemen to head home while you still can.”

Feeling like he had been caught in a nightmarish loop, Castiel could not believe that half an hour later, he was back at Dean’s cabin.

And this time, with no prospect of leaving any time soon.

Discouraged and sulking on one of the armchairs, he foolishly stared at his phone, wishing more than anything that he could reach Michael. He remained in that fashion for some time, unaware of what Dean was up to around him, until he heard some commotion in the kitchen.

Although it was impossible from his vantage point to discern what Dean was doing, he was clearly setting up something on the kitchen table.

Dean continued working, paying no attention to Castiel.

But Castiel knew that Dean was aware he was watching him.

Which aggravated him.

“What are you doing?” he finally asked him.

“Why don’t you come here and find out,” he said in far too jovial tone for Castiel’s liking.

And then winked at him.

Castiel’s reply was a grunt. But knowing that he had nothing else to do except mope around, he dragged himself to the kitchen. Whatever Castiel had been expecting, this hadn’t been it.

Measuring cups. Rolling pins. Cookie cutters. Cooling racks. Whisks.

And so on.

“How are your cooking skills?” asked Dean.

“I do okay.”

“Great. Get yourself an apron, help me out making old-fashioned sugar cookies and peppermint chocolate ones,” he said, pointing at a handwritten recipe, “and you can tell me all about your fiancé in the meantime.”


	3. Chapter Three: The Engagement Story

While Castiel wasn’t opposed to assisting Dean with baking cookies—in fact, he thought it was a nice idea—he wasn’t too keen on talking about Michael, however. Remembering their conversation from the day before, he was convinced that this particular topic of discussion would most likely turn sour quickly, and since it appeared that Castiel would be stuck in this nowhere town _and_ this tiny cabin with Dean for the next week, he judged that it was perhaps not the best idea.

So, instead, just like he had (tried) to do on the plane, he yielded the conversation onto something else: Dean.

After taking a seat, Castiel observed Dean gathering the ingredients and the rest of the tools he needed, and said, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“I—I know you came here to enjoy your holidays in peace and now, because you were trying to be generous, I’ve ruined it for you.”

“Um, you haven’t ruined anything, Cas. It’s literally day two and I honestly have nothing to complain about. Now, if you end up spending the rest of the week with a frown on your face and looking out the window, watching—well, I was going to say _watching the rain fall_ , but you know—then, yeah. I might get a bit upset.”

Castiel nodded, lowering his eyes.

“Look, I—for what it’s worth, I’m sorry too. Not that you’re here—I mean, yes, but—I’m sorry that the situation didn’t turn out like you wanted. I know you must be stressing out about your fiancé and it sucks. You can’t go anywhere so far, but maybe the storm will clear out earlier than planned. And even if that doesn’t happen, eventually the coms and WiFi—for those who have it anyway—will come back. We’ll, um, we’ll check, okay?”

Although he still felt helpless about the situation, Castiel had to admit that Dean’s supportive words had made him feel better. He gave Dean a shy smile and reached for the recipe, ready to help him get to work.

Wanting to put them in a festive mood, Dean disappeared into the office and came back with an old radio.

“Won’t we be out of range?” asked Castiel.

“Oh, definitely. But it’s okay. We’re covered.” Dean, apparently, had a collection of old mixtapes tucked in a shoebox, and soon enough, he found the one he had been looking for: a homemade mixtape of Christmas songs from his childhood.

The dough was ready for their first batch, and as they were busy trying out the different cookie-cutters (Castiel particularly liked the one shaped like a honeycomb), Dean then asked, “So, can you please tell me how you two met?”

“I told you this, already. We met online.”

“I know, but obviously there has to be more to the story, right? Like how? Dating app?”

“No. It wasn’t like that. I—I didn’t know who he was. And it wasn’t a dating app.” Castiel did not want to get into this with Dean. “It’s a long story.”

“I hate to break it to you, Cas, but that’s all we have now: time for long stories.”

Pressing on the dough, Castiel pursed his lips. He was still convinced that broaching that topic with Dean was not a good idea. But if Castiel had the choice between spending the rest of the week dodging Dean’s questions (which, although personal, weren’t that invasive in the end), or simply freeing himself of that potentially awkward conversation right away and moving forward to other things, the choice felt rather obvious.

Thus, though still approaching with caution, he said, “I love to paint. And sometimes, just for fun, I—I post it online. I do get comments sometimes. I'm always surprised how really kind people can be, being the Internet and all. And—anyway, one day, I—I guess I was having a bad day. You know the ones when you just second-guess yourself at everything? I was not in the nicest shape and that's when Michael left one of the nicest messages ever. It always made me feel better when I read kind comments, but this was something else. So I told him so. And then we started talking. Well, texting, and the next thing I knew it was…”

“More than that.”

“Yeah.”

Once again, it dawned on Castiel that, while everything he had just said had been the truth, he had still craftily avoided the little fact that he had not yet met Michael. And he knew that, sooner or later, if they continued speaking about it, Dean would definitely catch on to that detail.

Which was precisely why Castiel had expected Dean’s next question to be “How long did it take you to meet?” or “Where did it happen and was it odd?”

But to Castiel’s surprise, Dean’s follow-up question was, “What do you paint about? Is that—oh, wait. I was going to ask you if that was your job, but you said it’s for fun?”

“It’s not my job, no,” said Castiel, laughing. “I don’t think I’d get very far in life if that was the case.”

Dean frowned at him. “Um, I obviously have never seen what you can do, but I feel like you must be selling yourself short. Damn, I—now I’m really upset we don’t have the internet or anything. I’m super curious to see something you did.”

Castiel opened his mouth and closed it. He hesitated a moment and then said, “I could show you one. I—I saved it on my phone. It’s not one of my most recent work. Actually, it’s—I think I did this even before I started talking to Michael on a regular basis.”

“Can I see? Pretty, pretty please?”

He retrieved his phone from his pocket and debated for a second if he should warn Dean of the context of his work before showing him. But then he simply handed him the phone, once he had found the right picture.

Dean stared at the screen silently, and Castiel awaited Dean’s confusion as to why he would have painted a man in a Hawaiian shirt, with a stethoscope around his neck, waving a cowboy hat.

“Wait. Is this—is this fan art of Dr. Sexy?”

Castiel was stunned. No one he knew in person, not even Gabriel, despite being a devoted watcher of the show as well, had ever guessed.

“Yes. It is. You—you know about the show? And fan art?”

“Of course,” said Dean as though it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Love the show. And I came across some fan art before. This is so cool. Is that what you do? All fan art of Dr. Sexy?”

“Not all of it, but mostly, yes. I do original work too, but…I rarely post those. It’s only when I can spare the time in-between my job and…well, life.”

“And what is it that you do?” asked Dean.

“I co-own a tea shop.”

A surprised expression appeared on Dean’s face. Much more extensive than the one he had just had over Castiel’s art.

“What?” he said, laughing. “I don’t look like the type?”

“No, I thought you—I don’t know. That’s not what I was expecting. I—I don’t know why, but I’m just surprised. But that’s cool. So tea, huh? How did you get into that?”

“My business partner. Gabriel. We’ve been friends since college and we make a great team. I’m organized, he’s a people person, and we both like tea. So, somehow, we managed to pulled this off.”

Dean nodded, smiling at the concept, as he laid the angel cookies on the baking sheet. And suddenly stopped and lifted his head to look Castiel straight in the eye. “I—wait. Sorry, I think I must have misunderstood something. I just realized—” and then stopped talking, obviously struggling with his words.

Castiel’s swallowed. “What?”

“I—I know it’s none of my business, but what is going to happen to your shop after you move—once you get married?” And then he paused for a second, and said, “And how have you guys managed to make this work so far? You live in Chicago, you said?” Castiel nodded. “And you mentioned you’ve never been to Alaska before, so…what? You’ve been meeting up in Chicago all this time or something? I—I mean no disrespect, really, but I can’t see how Milton would ever leave Fairbanks. So…I—yeah.”

Without stating it clearly, Castiel was sure Dean had found the plot hole in his story. The snag which had been a bother to both Michael and Castiel for so long. The one detail he had been holding back, not just from Dean, but from most people whenever they asked if he was seeing anyone.

And even if he didn’t owe any explanation to Dean, Castiel figured that there was no point in him continuing hiding it.

He delicately put down the cookie cutter, and after taking a deep breath, he said, “So, um, there is one thing you should know. Well, a few. I—we don’t know what’s going to happen once we get married. We haven’t decided yet. The engagement happened very recently—and suddenly—so we still have to figure that part out.” He paused a moment and observed Dean, who was listening attentively. “That’s why I’m on my way to Fairbanks. So we can fully discuss this in per—in depth. We’ve talked about having a life together before, but we were mostly turning around the topic. We meant it, but, as you pointed out, it’s complicated and we—” Castiel stopped once more, biting on his lips. “And the reason why it’s, um, complicated—why I honestly have no clue what’s going to happen with us now, is because we—we’ve never actually met before. In real life, I mean.”

Dean opened his mouth as though he was about to say something, but then frowned, and shut it quickly.

After processing the information Castiel had just told him, he said, “You’ve never met.”

“No, we haven't.”

“Like, ever. In real life.”

Castiel shook his head.

“So, no…no dates. No—you’ve like—so, everything you’ve been doing was through the Internet. Or, like via phone calls and Skype and stuff?”

Castiel cleared his throat. “We—um, for the most part, we kept it to texting and—but yes.”

“Okay. And—but—but you’re…engaged.”

Castiel nodded.

“How?”

Not entirely sure if Dean was referring to the relationship in general or specifically the engagement, Castiel answered simply, “Michael proposed and I said yes.”

Dean blinked. “ _He_ proposed. And you’re—” he began saying, but never finished his sentence. He bit on his lips and slowly sat down, and leaned on the back of his chair, thinking. And then, no longer able to contain his thoughts, he said, “But—but Cas, that’s—that’s crazy! How—and Mi—Michael, he’s—”

And Castiel cut him off. “Dean, don’t! Please, don’t speak against him. I was just starting to like you. Don’t—I know how this sounds, okay? I’m not an idiot. But can we just—now, you know why I’m desperate to get to Fairbanks. Can we just leave it at that?”

Dean’s face had remained the same for a long minute, as he was obviously struggling to remain quiet. He cleared his throat, grabbed the cookie cutter and pressed it in the dough. And just as he seemed to be letting it go, he then looked up at Castiel and said, “I just have one question.”

“What’s that?” sighed Castiel.

“Did you—what did…I—never mind.”

Intrigued as to what Dean was thinking of, Castiel nonetheless reasoned that he should content himself with the fact that the matter had been dropped, at last. And wanting to ensure that it stayed that way, he then questioned Dean about _his_ love life.

Dean’s reply was a loud snort. “Yeah, I—I don’t have much to say about that.”

“Bad break-up or—”

“Bad pile of nothing,” he said. “I’ve never really been one for long-term romantic relationships. Of course, the fact that I used to travel a lot for my job, up until a couple of years ago, didn’t really help either. The hours were weird sometimes and—anyway. But no. No one special. Which, I’m okay with that. Keeping things casual has its benefits too.”

Given his not-so-subtle flirtatious nature, Castiel had no problem believing that Dean was thriving in casual relationships. And yet, he also couldn’t help but feel like he hadn’t been the only one holding back certain details. But he didn’t press on the subject. Instead, he asked, “What do you do? Sorry, I just realized I didn’t ask before.”

“I’m a mechanic.”

“I—like your dad?”

“Not exactly, no. My dad had his own shop. He worked on cars. I work for Garrison.”

“The airline?”

“Well, yes. Although, Garrison, Co. is not _just_ the airline, technically speaking. But that’s where I work. I’m an airplane mechanic.”

And while Castiel had many questions, as he found Dean’s job a very interesting topic, he remained quiet when he remembered something.

That Michael’s family owned Garrison, Co.

Which meant that Dean was working for Michael.

And now, he understood why Dean had held such a strong opinion regarding Michael. Whether he was right or not.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. They politely conversed throughout the morning while baking their cookies, but they purposely avoided any personal subjects. They kept the discussion light and on cheerful matters, from their favourite television shows to their hobbies in the summer time. Dean was fascinated by Castiel’s tea shop and Castiel was eager to learn more about Dean’s life in Juneau.

After a quick lunch, which consisted of a warm creamy chicken and mushroom soup with a few tasty honey butter rolls, Dean took a long nap in the bedroom, leaving Castiel the opportunity to relax and read in the living room for most of the afternoon, while sipping on a nice cup of tea. Since he had finished the only book he had brought along with him, Dean had assured him that he was more than welcome to help himself to any book from the living room bookshelf.

And this was more or less how the day had gone. No argument or tension between the two.

They held their breaths for a second during supper, however, when the lights flickered, fearing they would have to rely on the generators, but everything came back to normal.

Overall, Castiel had nothing to complain about. He had enjoyed his peaceful day, even if he caught himself reaching for his phone on many occasions. And while the “No Service” notification was still there, he took the time to read again the last text conversation he had had with Michael, as though he wanted to make sure he hadn’t imagined it.

After a quiet evening of playing cards, while the fire was crackling, they eventually called it a night and headed to bed.

As Castiel lay comfortably on his back, feeling sleep slowly creeping up on him, Dean kept tossing and turning, making it difficult for Castiel to fall asleep.

Dean fixed his pillow, turned on his side once more, and sighed deeply.

Knowing it was probably a mistake, Castiel asked, “Something the matter?”

Dean turned around to face him and said, “I just—I can’t believe you accepted a proposal from a guy you’ve never even met.”

“Dean.”

“No, look, I—I’m not trying to be an asshole, okay? But no matter who it is, I—how can you—aren’t you worried? How can you really know him?”

“I _do_ know him,” argued Castiel.

“Okay, but—I mean, like, _know_ him.”

Castiel frowned. “Do you mean sexually?”

“Well, I—” he said, pausing, only to let out a short laugh, and then say, “Yeah. For starters.”

Pursing his lips, Castiel chose his words carefully. “I—while that is obviously relevant, it’s not the only thing that matters. If it were, given our situation, this relationship wouldn’t have been much of a relationship to begin with. We talked for months. About—I shared things with him I’d never shared with anyone else, and that's really something to me.” Dean repositioned himself on his back, pondering on Castiel’s comment for a moment. When it was clear that he waited for Castiel to elaborate, Castiel continued. “Most of our relationship was based on our exchanges. I know it’s not the same, but if anything, it might have accentuated my sentiments for him even more.”

“Wait—most? _Most_ of your relationship?”

Despite himself, Castiel felt a smile grow on his lips.

Dean hoisted himself on his elbow to look at him. “So, there’s been stuff...is what you’re saying.”

“Good night, Dean,” said Castiel, shifting himself on his other side.

“Hold on. I want to know.”

Feeling his cheeks almost turn read, he answered, “I am certainly not discussing the details with you. But I’ll say this: you’d be surprised what a few words can do.”

Almost regretting having said it, he expected Dean to pester him with questions. But he didn’t. He remained quiet, until he finally said, “I just think that it’s already difficult to get a good sense of people when you interact with them daily and in person. Online, it’s—I feel like it’s just a portion of that. They get to really filter which part of themselves they share. Project. Whatever.”

“Right. Because it’s not like people lie in real life,” said Castiel sarcastically.

“That’s true, and that’s kind of my point, Cas. How can you know if all you have are texts? Even if they are honest—and that’s a big if—sharing your most intimate secrets, or even having sex with them, is still just one aspect of knowing someone. And I—I just think that it’s a very limited way to learn about someone in the end. That’s all.”

And with this, the conversation ended there, with Castiel left mulling over Dean’s words, which, unfortunately, were extremely similar to his own reasoning about the issue.

But he wasn’t going to tell Dean that.

The following day was pretty much a repetition of the day before. They took it easy and kept themselves safe and warm inside the cabin as they observed the white storm raging outside.

In the late afternoon, however, when Castiel was helping Dean with peeling potatoes for their meal, it came to his attention that Dean was staring at him with an odd expression on his face.

“What?”

Dean took a sip of his beer, as though to gain a few extra seconds to weigh if he should dare speak his mind or not, and then said, “Can I ask you one more question about Michael?”

“Am I going to like the question?”

“Only one way to find out,” said Dean, smirking.

Castiel rolled his eyes. “What is it?”

Dean shifted on his seat, and leaned on the table. “Why do you like him?”

“Why do you ask?” said Castiel, surprised at his question.

“I’m just curious. I know you check your phone as if you’re expecting a text from him at any moment. You clearly care for him. But you said yes to a guy who proposed via text. That’s how it happened, right?” Castiel nodded. “I feel like only out-of-this-world spontaneous people would go for that. And I know we just met, but you don’t strike me as the type. But you did it anyway. It must be because you really like him. And I’m just curious to know why.”

Castiel observed Dean with attention. “Are you really asking?" Dean frowned at him. "I’ll answer your question if you really want to know," continued Castiel. "But if it’s just to make fun of me, or twist and dismiss everything I’ll say, then I really don’t see the point.”

“I won’t.”

Castiel squinted at him.

“I promise,” said Dean, lifting his hand. “I mean, I might make fun of you a little bit, but just because this whole thing is a bit crazy and you have to admit it.”

Castiel shook his head, half-laughing.

“Why do you like him?” repeated Dean. “Enough to cross the country and marry him, even if—despite everything. Like, when was the moment you knew?”

Castiel took a deep breath, debating on his answer, as there were many things he could begin with. His personality. His attention to details. His sense of humor. His charms. His openness. The way he made him feel like he wasn’t alone, even if he wasn’t right next to him.

But Castiel knew the answer he wanted to give Dean. So continuing peeling his potatoes, he said, “He inspires me.”

“Inspires you? To what?”

“To paint.”

Dean frowned. “Were you not already painting?”

“Yes. But now it’s…it’s different.”

“You mean he’s your muse?”

Castiel opened his mouth to speak and then shut it quickly, rethinking his answer. “In a way, I suppose. But not exactly. Sorry, it’s difficult to explain. But that’s how I knew. I did a painting for him, and honestly, it sounds silly given what it was, but of all the paintings I’ve done so far, it’s my favourite and it was the easiest one I’ve done. I know that doesn’t necessarily mean anything, but it just leaves me with the greatest feeling about it.”

Dean nodded. “What was the painting? Do you have it on your phone?”

“No. And I didn’t post it online either. I sent it to him.”

“And what was it?” 

And while Castiel knew he wasn’t being fair, he still simply said, “Him.”

He was grateful that Dean hadn’t mocked him or even revisited the subject of Michael for the rest of the day. He suspected that they had exploited that issue enough, and there was no need to comment on it again. In fact, Castiel was looking forward to other subjects, such as Dean’s childhood and the few tales Dean had to share about the town of Tulpa.

Castiel was comfortable. He genuinely enjoyed Dean’s company, the stories and the laughs they shared together on that night. So much so that he nearly forgot the circumstances explaining his presence at Dean’s cabin.

For a brief moment or two.

And on the next morning, that fact hit him like a wave when he woke up next to Dean, with the pillow, serving as barrier between them, gone.

That he was glued to Dean.

And had one of his hands tucked under Dean's shirt.


	4. Chapter Four: Chez Dean

As he lay there, holding his breath and not moving a muscle, Castiel wondered how this had come to be. He couldn’t remember having set the pillow neatly between them. And even if he and Dean had forgot to do so, this still didn’t explain why Castiel’s hand was tucked under Dean’s shirt.

That he would have snuggled up to him by accident in his sleep? Sure.

And with one arm wrapped around Dean’s stomach? Also possible.

With the pillow gone, it could have easily occurred in his sleep, especially if one of them was huddling for warmth.

But being pressed against Dean the way he was, as though he was practically about to climb on to him—with his goddamn hand resting flat on his chest—that was something else entirely.

With his eyes still shut, and desperate to not wake Dean, Castiel swallowed hard and withdrew his hand as delicately as he could, paying close attention to Dean’s breaths. And just as his hand was nearly free, when his fingers were just reaching the bottom of his shirt, making Castiel believe that he had succeeded, Dean’s hand reached for his.

Startled, Castiel opened his eyes and found Dean staring at him.

Not in a creepy way. Not in a suggestive way either. But he seemed equally surprised by their position as Castiel was.

With Dean now awake, Castiel took his hand back and repositioned himself quickly, so as to no longer be completely pressed against Dean’s body.

But he stayed in bed. He didn’t eased himself to the edge of the bed. Nor did he reach for one of the pillows to place between them.

He simply shifted himself slightly away from Dean and stayed put.

Staring at him.

Lying next to him.

And almost waiting for him to do something.

Dean’s eyes turned into something else. Almost hopeful. And tender.

Castiel hadn’t notice how stunning Dean’s green eyes had been until that moment.

He felt his heart racing and blood rushing to his cheeks.

And he could tell that Dean was battling ideas in his head as his eyes were transfixed on Castiel’s lips.

And they remained that way for a very long time. Fighting the urge to say anything. To reach for the other.

Until Dean swallowed, shifted his eyes to the side, slowly sat up, and after a shy smile at Castiel, slid himself off the bed.

The morning was awkward.

Particularly during breakfast. While they spoke to each other, they didn’t converse as openly, or even as enthusiastically, as they had the day before.

They were courteous and to the point. But above all, they utterly ignored what had happened when they had woken up.

Even if it was obvious that both their minds were circling back to it. The fact that they awkwardly avoided each other’s eyes and that the weight of the silence was heavier than usual, were flagrant indicators that something was off between them.

Oddly enough, this had been the part which had confused Castiel the most about the ordeal: that _both_ of them appeared to feel awkward about it. Not just Castiel.

After all, he had been the one in the semi-compromising position. The one who was engaged, snuggled up to another man who wasn’t his fiancé—accidentally or not.

Him. Not Dean.

So why?

Except for the mild awkwardness during that moment, Castiel couldn’t understand why Dean felt embarrassed by this, as he had done nothing wrong. In fact, given what he had learned about Dean over the past few days, Castiel had expected him to joke, or even blatantly flirt with him, the second it had happened.

But he did the opposite. He acted as though nothing had happened and tried to hide his discomfort, which he spectacularly failed to do, like Castiel.

It was as though Castiel was dealing with a completely different person. And for some reason, it bothered Castiel greatly.

Thankfully, however, the situation improved.

While the morning hadn’t been very inspiring, the remainder of the day turned out to be delightful.

It was unclear if a good breakfast had aided Dean in returning to his old self, or Castiel had indeed mistaken Dean’s behavior to have been out of the ordinary. But whichever it was, Castiel had been pleasantly surprised when, just before lunch time, Dean announced that it was about time they tackle the holiday spirit full speed.

Even though they were barely at the eighth of December, Dean was supposed to be enjoying his Christmas holidays and informed Castiel he had planned everything accordingly.

Thus, listening to the same Christmas music cassette tape, they passed the better part of the afternoon amusing themselves by building gingerbread houses.

From scratch.

With no patterns.

And, of course, no internet to help them. Only an old recipe.

Since both of them had always relied on gingerbread house kits in the past, this had been quite the undertaking. But it had certainly been a fun one at that.

They realized quickly that making sure the walls and roof glued together was not the most difficult part. Making sure that the house still looked like a house, when one of the pieces was shaped differently than the others due to the baking process, and that now one of the walls was longer or higher than the others, _that_ had been the troublesome part.

Despite this obstacle, Castiel was immensely impressed with Dean’s house. While some of the walls had been a bit crooked and nothing had perfectly fitted together, he had still managed to assemble a well-designed two-story house, with two chimneys, balcony and a porch.

While Castiel had kept to a very basic design.

“You have done this before,” he said to him, amused.

“I swear I haven’t. Beginner’s luck.”

When they moved on to decorating the houses though, Castiel felt more at ease with that part of the process. Armed with a panoply of colorful candy and icing to choose from, the next thing he knew, Castiel was in a deep bliss of creativity.

With a bright smile on his face.

Which hadn’t been unnoticed by Dean.

“What was it you asked me a moment ago?” he asked, smirking.

Castiel laughed. “I’ve never done it like this either. I haven’t made a gingerbread house since I was a kid, I think. And it certainly wasn’t like this.”

As Castiel added tiny pieces of chocolate on the roof, making it look like shingles, instead of simply covering the roof with white icing, Dean paused his decorating and watched Castiel working on his house with fascination.

It wasn’t until he was deciding which color of icing should he use to decorate the walls, that he realized Dean was still observing him.

“What?”

“Nothing. You seem to be enjoying yourself.”

“I am. This was a wonderful idea.”

Dean nodded. “Cool. I’m glad.” He paused a moment and then said, “And I—I really love how your house looks. It’s beautiful.”

“Mine?” he said, incredulous. “Yours is like an architectural masterpiece.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Dean.

“Um, compared to my, um, six pieces basic one, yes it is.”

“But that’s what I like about yours. It’s not basic. It’s a _classic_. And with all the colors, you still managed to make it original. You didn’t go for the obvious green and red, you know?”

And then Castiel was blessed with an idea. He put down the icing and delicately slid his house aside to the other end of the table, and did the same with Dean’s house.

Confused, Dean lifted an eyebrow.

“How about we finish those later and make another one.” And then added, “Together.”

“Huh. Unite our forces, you mean?”

Castiel nodded. And Dean’s grin spread from ear to ear.

And after enthusiastic speculations, they managed to build a small, but intricate, colorful gingerbread castle.

Side by side.

Where, due to required teamwork, fingers had been brushed. And even though nothing more had happened, and that there hadn’t been anything meant by it either, Castiel nonetheless took notice every time it occurred.

As the afternoon was soon coming to an end, they heard the wind intensify. The cabin creaked, the lights flickered occasionally and the air became chillier around them. They added on layers of clothes, and after a quick search in the office-storage room, Dean found two pairs of cozy and warm slippers for them to wear.

Once they decided that their castle was to their liking, they put all the gingerbread houses aside on the counter, making room on the table to move on to other things. Dean began cooking supper (spaghetti and meatballs) and Castiel, from the small box of decorations that Dean had retrieved from the office, began decorating the cabin.

Most of the decorations were ornaments, tinsel and Christmas lights to use for a tree. Normally, Dean had explained, aided by some of the citizens of the town, small Christmas trees were made available for anyone who desired one in the week leading up to Christmas. Free of charge.

And while Dean could have simply gotten himself one too, as it was what his father had done once or twice, due to the weather, this option was obviously impossible for them.

So, he told Castiel to use the ornaments and other decorations as he saw fit, even if they would have to make do without a tree.

However, Castiel had another idea. With the tinsel, tape and a bit of patience, Castiel attempted to create a two-dimensional tree on the wall. In the end, it hadn’t looked as good as he had imagined it, thought Castiel.

But it wasn’t that bad. And Dean certainly appeared to be pleased at the final result, so Castiel deduced that the effort had then been worth it.

They ate their dinner quickly, welcoming the food warming them up, and soon after, Dean joined Castiel in the living room, where they took care of the rest of the decorations together. They installed wreaths, Christmas lights throughout the living room, and placed some of the ornaments in the bookshelf, all the while drinking homemade eggnog, as they hummed Holiday songs. To which Dean had created his own lyrics—some had even been dirty ones—and Castiel had to admit that they were actually funny and had asked Dean to teach them to him.

Which he did gladly, smirking at him the whole way through.

Moving around had been extremely helpful against the chilly air. And decorating had also served as a distraction over the fact that the lights kept flickering. Castiel wondered if they should bother with the Christmas lights given the circumstances, fearing the power would die on them, but Dean didn’t seem to be too worried. He argued that if the power went out, it wouldn’t be because of the amount they used, it would simply be because the storm would have caused damage to the power grid, which was something neither of them were in a position to prevent.

Nonetheless, since Castiel was troubled by that possibility, Dean turned off all the lights, but the Christmas ones, so they could enjoy it with their minds at ease for a moment.

Once the decorations were done, they decided to simply spend the rest of the evening sitting in the armchairs next to the warm fire, snuggled up in blankets. Because the floor had been so cold, they opted to set the armchairs facing each other, so each of them could rest their legs on the other one’s chair, thus stretching their legs.

And keeping warm.

Because of the eggnog, Dean had nodded off in his chair, and Castiel, finding him funny, let him sleep, as he continued blissfully reading.

After a few hours, however, Castiel started to feel the cold air get to him, despite being settled right next to the fireplace. His nose was frozen and so were his hands for holding the book. And with Dean shifting in his seat, pulling on his blankets, and his toes digging deeper into Castiel’s seat, he knew he must not be the only one struggling with the cold.

Thus, Castiel put the book aside, and gently woke Dean by shaking his shoulder. A tad confused at first, Dean repositioned himself in the armchair, looking around him, as if he was looking for clues explaining what had happened.

“Sorry,” he said. “Must have been the eggnog.”

“It’s okay. You were simply tired. But I caught you shivering a few times. Maybe you’d be more comfortable in bed.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s fine,” he said, fixing the blankets. “I’ll be okay, now. We can talk or you can continue reading too. I’ll stay here and keep you company.”

“I—I was going to call it a night myself.”

And not putting up much of a fight after that, Dean nodded and stood up from the chair. They did a quick check up around the cabin. Castiel made sure the screen of the fireplace was properly in place, while Dean verified everything in the kitchen was turned off and any leftovers were safely placed in the fridge. After Dean had glimpsed outside, with Castiel’s help, they—rather reluctantly—put on their boots, coats and the rest of their winter attire, and shoveled the snow at the front door and around the windows, for safety measures.

Once Dean judged that the rest could wait until morning, they hurried back inside. Both shivering, they then changed into another set of clothes, as per Dean’s suggestion. Aware that it would have been more proper to let Dean have his room to change, while he could have simply grabbed his backpack and changed in the bathroom, Castiel’s whole body was shaking so much, the prospect of leaving the room and walking all the way to the bathroom seemed too much for him. He needed to be buried under a hundred blankets, and warm. Now.

But with his hands shaking, he couldn’t seem to find the right item of clothing.

“Cas?”

Castiel, his back turned to him, said, “Sor—sorry. I’m—I—I just can’t se—seem to find my clothes. I won—won’t look. Promise.”

He heard a drawer open and then Dean said, “Here, put this on.”

Castiel turned around and discerned with the moonlight that Dean had laid sweat pants, a t-shirt, a thick jumper and a pair of socks on the bed.

Castiel instantly let go of his bag and began changing right away, no longer caring about propriety, and when he only had the jumper left to put on, he climbed on the bed, eager to no longer touch the freezing floor.

Covered under thick blankets, Castiel slowly felt the initial shock of the cold leaving his body, as warmth spread in his chest.

And it wasn’t until that moment that Castiel, with Dean inches from his face, remembered how this whole day had begun. His eyes hadn’t properly adjusted to the dark yet, and the moonlight was of no help at that angle.

But he had a feeling that Dean was thinking the same.

“Are you cold?”

“I’m okay,” said Castiel. “I’ll be okay. You?”

There was a long pause and Dean said, “Same.” And then, Dean grabbed one of the pillows and set it in-between them.

“Night, Cas.”

And he turned his back to him.

Which, despite everything, Castiel couldn’t help but feel a pang in his chest.

“Good night, Dean.”


	5. Chapter Five: A Lazy Day

When Castiel woke up the next morning, daylight was already there, which surprised him. Dean had been an early riser since the first day. Momentarily thinking that he must have let him sleep in, he was stunned to find Dean still sleeping next to him, his back turned to him.

Even if he was still buried under the thick covers, Castiel could tell that it was still very cold in the house. Resting his hand on Dean’s arm, he said, “Dean, do you think we should get the fire started right away or wait?”

Dean stirred a little, but didn’t answer.

“Dean?”

A faint whine was heard.

Frowning, Castiel leaned in to have a better look at him, and gently rolled him towards him. Dean opened his eyes for a brief moment, muttered “Hey,” and shut them once again, as though it had demanded a lot out of him to do so.

And did not move or say anything else.

Which worried Castiel immensely.

“Dean? Are you okay?”

“Just tired,” he croaked.

Dean looked pale, and once he opened his eyes again, he seemed to have difficulty keeping them open. Without further ado, Castiel brought his hand to Dean’s forehead. Relief spread through his chest when he assessed that Dean did not have a fever.

But something was definitely wrong.

“Dean, what happened? How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Just tired. I—I didn’t sleep much.”

“How come? You mean you weren’t sleepy or—”

“No, I was. I just…couldn’t.” And then his whole body quivered, prompting him to pull the covers closer to him.

“Dean, did you—were you cold last night?”

There was a short pause, and then he said, “A little.”

Castiel’s chest felt heavy. “A little or a lot?”

Silence.

“Enough to keep you awake?”

Silence.

Swearing under his breath, Castiel repositioned himself to examine him properly. He ran the back of his fingers on Dean’s cheek and after pulling on the covers, only to expose Dean’s upper body, he rested his hand on his chest, feeling his heart beat. He wasn’t burning up, or sweating, but Castiel thought he could be warmer.

“Cas, I swear I’m okay. I’m just tired.”

Castiel took a deep breath and jumped out of bed. The floor was freezing, so he grabbed the nearest pair of thick sleepers he could find, put them on hastily and wrapped himself with Dean’s dressing gown, which had been laid at the foot of the bed. He reached Dean’s side and sat the edge of the bed. Fixing the covers, making sure that Dean properly covered, he said, “I’ll go light the fire and I’ll make a quick breakfast. That might help you, okay?”

Still with his eyes closed, Dean said, “Okay. I’ll be right there. Just—give me five minutes.”

“No. Stay here. Rest. I’ll come back.”

“Five minutes,” repeated Dean.

Castiel was about to protest, but assessing that Dean hadn’t moved a muscle, he figured that he wouldn’t go very far.

Less than ten minutes later, a cozy fire was lit, and Castiel returned to the bedroom, carrying a tray with two sets of plates and mugs, finding Dean exactly where he had left him.

He carefully put down the tray on Dean’s nightstand and sat at the edge of the bed.

“Dean? Dean, I brought food.”

With great misery, Dean managed to sit himself up. “I was going to help you.”

“No worries. I just made something really fast for you to eat. It’s oatmeal and toast. Nothing too exciting, I’m afraid. But I think it will do you good.”

He rested the tray on Dean’s lap, picked up the second bowl for himself, walked around the bed and settled himself next to Dean.

After a few spoonful, Dean picked up the small cup and smelled it, unsure of what it was.

“It’s tea,” said Castiel.

Dean turned to him. “I don’t remember having brought tea.”

“You didn’t. That’s mine. Sorry, about the leaves. I usually carry my own tea infuser but I lost it on my way here. Drink it slowly and you should be good to avoid the leaves.”

Intrigued, Dean did as Castiel told him. After his first sip, he paused, taking in the taste, and then brought the cup to his lips for more.

They finished their breakfast, Castiel put all the dishes back in the tray and rested it on top of the dresser, and climbed back in bed next to Dean.

“Feeling a little better?”

“Yes. Thank you. I’m still tired though.”

“I know. Go ahead. Sleep. I’m not going anywhere.”

“You don’t have to stay.”

“I want to. If you don’t mind. I’ll probably be reading, so here or in the living room, it doesn’t make that much difference. Save for the bed that’s warmer.”

“You sure?”

“Yup.”

Dean seemed hesitant, but lacking the energy, he simply let his eyes shut, and soon, judging by his breathing, Castiel could tell he was sound asleep.

A couple of hours later, Castiel was still settled at Dean’s side. His eyes shifted away from his book once in a while, wanting to be sure that Dean was all right.

And he appeared to be. He had remained in the exact position he had fallen asleep in, letting out soft snores.

As comforting as this was, however, a sense of dread was growing in Castiel’s stomach. But not about Dean’s well-being, although he certainly wanted him to be fine.

No. This was something else. This was about _why_ he worried about Dean’s well-being.

And as much as Castiel could sit there and tell himself that it was because he wasn’t a heartless person, he knew, deep down, it was more than that.

The truth was that he genuinely liked Dean. And while the circumstances in which they met were less than ideal, he had enjoyed his time with him so far.

Perhaps a little too much.

Much more than he would like, in any case.

And certainly to a degree that had begun making him feel uneasy. And that had been the case well before this morning, when panic had spread in his mind when he feared Dean had been gravely ill.

Well before that.

And now, with nothing else to do but fret over poor Dean, lying at his side, Castiel had been granted an opportunity to ponder over his last few days with him. To reflect on how his initial impression of him had been wrong. How he loved hearing about his childhood. Of how proud Dean was of his brother, who he unfortunately didn’t get the chance to see very often. Of how he always spoke respectfully about everyone, in fact. Even his roommates, Spengler and Zeddmore, who were obviously a little annoying to him.

Everyone. Except Michael.

And Castiel couldn’t understand why. He had difficulty believing that Dean would hold such a strong opinion about someone if it was unfounded, and yet, he couldn't be more wrong about Michael. 

Be that as it may, one thing was clear: Castiel grew wary of his opinion and feelings for Dean.

Especially when he realized that he hadn’t even checked his phone once since the day before. He knew it was pointless, but the fact that he hadn’t thought of doing it made him feel guilty.

Almost as if Michael was not his priority anymore. Which was ridiculous, of course. Because he was. After everything they had been through, the months of intimate exchanges, nothing could take that away. Nor how he had felt when Michael had proposed. And how eager he was to finally stand in front of him.

So, no, forgetting to check his phone or enjoying Dean’s company did not, in any way, refute his feelings for Michael.

But as much as he hated to admit it, it did put certain things into perspective about his relationship with Michael.

He used to think that what was so special about their relationship was the aspect that they hadn’t been able to interact organically, which had allowed them to grow closer in ways he had never achieved before. But now, he began to wonder if he hadn’t used that side of their relationship as an excuse to compensate for everything else they were missing.

Particularly since, in the space of a few days, he appeared to have no issue getting to know Dean on a personal level either. And while it wasn’t to the same degree, there was no point in denying that something was growing between them.

And it brought dread and doubts spreading through his mind.

Just as Castiel told himself to focus his attention on his book instead of losing himself in worry, he felt Dean shifting himself on his back, as he slowly woke up.

“Hey.”

“Hello, Dean. How are you feeling?” he asked, putting his book away.

“I’m okay. Better." 

“That’s good. I’m glad.”

"Still a bit sleepy," he confessed. "But not tired. Just—I haven’t properly woken up yet.” Dean watched him for a second and said, “Thanks. For this morning, I mean.”

“No problem. I just wish I could have done more.”

“Like what? You did everything.”

“You know what I mean, Dean. Why—why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

“I really thought I’d warm up at some point. And you were sleeping. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“Because I was _sleeping?_ ” Castiel stared at Dean harshly. And even though he did not want to nudge the conversation in that direction, Castiel asked, “You sure that’s why you didn’t want to wake me?”

Dean lowered his eyes.

“No. It’s not. You know why. I didn’t—not that I would have done anything, but I—given how things are, I figured it was better that way.” He swallowed hard. “Cas, it’s—it’s already difficult as it is. I’m really trying not to be an asshole, here.”

And Castiel felt his heart racing, as their eyes met.

“What are you thinking?” he asked Castiel.

There was a long pause. “There’s a lot of things I—I’d like to say right now,” said Castiel, “but I, um, think in the long run, it wouldn’t be fair to either of us if I did.”

Dean, holding his stare, said, “Trust me, Cas, it’s probably nowhere near as unfair as what I want to say right now.” And after a pause, he added softly, "Or what I'd like to do."

Castiel bit on his lip and repositioned himself, looking straight ahead. And before he could stop himself, he said, “Dean, did you mean it? What you said on the day we met, about you—about the engagement rings? I’m sure you were just teasing, but were you serious?”

“Me screaming it over rooftops, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Castiel could feel Dean’s stare on him and did not dare look at him.

“I was teasing. But I meant it. I’d do way more than that, Cas. If I—I’d—because I—but—” and the rest of his sentence died in his throat.

“You want to know the funny part?” asked Castiel. “That’s how I always believed I’d react, too. Whenever I’d think about the concept, not just with Mi—that’s how I thought I’d react to it.”

“That’s what is making me feel worst about all this.”

“What is?”

“That—well, there are a few things, actually, but what’s driving me nuts right now is that you got proposed to via text. I know it’s none of my business,” he added urgently, “and it might have been—but I just…that’s not how I would ask you, I can tell you that right now.”

“And how would you do it?” he asked, after finally returning his gaze on him.

Dean looked him straight in the eye for a long minute. His bottom lip moved. And just as Castiel thought Dean was finally going to say it, Dean lowered his eyes, and turned his back on him.

And Castiel, aware that it made no sense whatsoever, was convinced in that moment that Dean not only knew the answer to that question, but that he had reached that answer because he had taken a long time to reflect upon it.

And with this, Castiel was more confused than ever, and he let himself sink into the pillows and, like Dean, drifted off into sleep.

They awoke in the early afternoon. And Dean, after acquiring a proper amount of sleep, felt considerably better. He didn’t look as pale as he had in the morning, and though a little subdued, he seemed to have regained a bit of energy.

Since they had spent the entire morning lazy in bed, and one glance out the bedroom window was sufficient enough to inform them that the situation still hadn’t improved outside, they decided to continue with their day in the same fashion it had begun: lazily.

They stayed in pajamas, and wrapped in additional blankets, they settled themselves near the fireplace, admiring Castiel’s odd Christmas tree. Dean had requested another cup of tea like the one Castiel had made him that same morning.

“It was delicious,” he said. “And I know it sounds nuts, but I feel like it made me feel ions better.”

“It isn’t crazy. Tea has immense healing proprieties. Some more than others, and it depends on what the illness is, of course, but still.” Castiel retrieved his small plastic container out of his backpack. “I prefer keeping them in a tin can, but given the airport security…”

Snuggled up in his blanket, Dean smirked at him. “I can’t believe all you brought with you for this entire trip was this tiny bag, that barely fits two pairs of jeans, but you made sure to bring your tea with you.”

“Um, it wasn’t actually,” admitted Castiel.

“What? That’s all you had on the plane. Right?”

“On the flight from Juneau? Yes. I had a large suitcase with me from Chicago to Seattle. But, um, the airline seemed to have misplaced it.”

“No! It was put on a different flight or something?”

“Apparently so, yes. Because my flight to Seattle ended up being shortened to—I don’t remember exactly where, but somewhere in Montana. And when my luggage wasn’t there, everyone assured me it would be in Seattle, and once I finally arrived there, like, ten hours later, not only was my luggage still missing, but nobody had any idea where it was.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yup. And that’s the worst of it, because, I was still just in Seattle. I was nowhere near Juneau—or _Fairbanks_.”

With his mouth slightly open, Dean squinted at him. “You’re telling me other crap happened in-between Seattle and Juneau?”

And Castiel began recounting to him his traveling tale, making Dean roaring with laughter, in particular when he told him he had had to resort to the public washroom and a few wet napkins to wash himself after a few days of non-stop travelling.

Which had been relatively crafty task to achieve without rising too much suspicion.

In return, Dean then began telling him hilarious traveling stories he had heard over the years. His favourite had been about this very conservative couple, who had received the wrong luggage—somehow—and had been very shocked at the discovery of its contents, which turned out to be various items from a sex shop.

Knowing they should soon get started on dinner, they argued against it, as neither of them were particularly hungry. And with this, feeling giddy, they then decided to move on from tea to wine.

After a few cups, Dean went to the bathroom, and Castiel walked to the kitchen for a refill. Once he arrived at the counter, however, he noticed the bottle was already empty. Vaguely remembering something about other bottles in the so-called office, Castiel dashed over there quickly. Castiel moved a few things around to gain access to the bottles tucked away in the left corner, and after picking two of them, he slid by the desk, moving some papers by doing so, turned off the light, and grabbed the door handle.

And just as he was about to shut the door, he paused.

Frozen on his spot, it took him a moment to assess what he had just seen.

He slowly pushed the door open again.

A bright green light was coming from the desk. Which had been hidden from him until he had moved things around in the office.

But he could see it now. It was something similar to a walkie-talkie.

And he was pretty sure it was a satellite phone.

Castiel stopped breathing. He put down the bottles on the desk, and just as he was reaching for the phone, the lights of the room turned on.

He turned around and found Dean in the doorway, looking at him in horror.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Silence.

“Dean? Answer me.” He stepped towards him.

“Shit. I—okay. Wait—I can explain—I—”

Furious, Castiel grabbed the phone, and dashed towards the doorway, wanting to leave the room.

“Cas, wait.”

“I can’t believe you! Let me through, Dean.”

Dean moved aside, and Castiel walked to the fireplace holding the phone, desperate to make it work. The phone was charged, but for some reason it wasn’t working.

Dean was approaching carefully, but stopped suddenly when Castiel lifted his hand, warning him to stay away from him.

“You tell me how this works—or better yet, make it work, right now!”

Dean swallowed and shook his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me? Dean! You had this phone all this time and you're still refusing to help me?”

“I know. And I’m sorry. But I can’t. Not—not right now. First, I need to—”

“Why? Why didn’t you tell me?” continued Castiel, cutting him off. “Why did you lie about this?”

After a short hesitation, Dean said, “What would it have changed? It wasn’t working for the first two nights and after—Cas, it’s not like you could have gone anywhere anyway,” he said, pointing at the window.

“I could have fucking called Michael, Dean! At least tell him I’m okay and safe! How about that? It’s been days! Just that would have helped. He must be worried sick.”

“No, he’s not,” muttered Dean under his breath. “You don’t know how he is. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Excuse me?”

Dean bit his lips hard and crossed his arms over his chest.

“You don’t get to say anything about Michael,” Castiel warned him. “You don’t have the right. Especially not after—after all this! I mean, what the hell! What is this? What? You thought—what exactly were you trying to accomplish here?”

Dean looked at him with sad eyes.

“You kept me here on purpose. Even if I was stuck here because of the storm and the stupid plane, there is literally nothing explaining why you lied about the phone. Except if you were just trying to get into my pants, which we know that’s pretty much what you wanted since—”

“Cas, wait. No, I know how this looks, but—that’s not—I swear that’s not what this is.”

“Really?” Castiel scowled at him. “Why then? Because none of this makes—”

“It was me, okay?” Dean snapped at him. “I’m the one you’ve been texting with for the past few months. Not Michael.”


	6. Chapter Six: Enochian51415

There were many things that Castiel had expected to come out of Dean’s mouth in that moment, but _that_ , he had to admit, hadn’t been one of them.

Castiel stared at him blankly, processing Dean’s nonsense.

Because it was nonsense. It had to be.

“This isn’t funny, Dean. Why are you saying this?”

“I’m not joking.”

“No, you’re lying. How—there is no way!”

“I swear I’m telling the truth.”

Castiel scoffed at him. “ _The truth_?” he said, lifting the phone. “Sorry, but you just lost all credibility here.”

“I know. I know I fucked up. And I am so, so sorry about that. I’m sorry about a lot of things, but Cas, I swear I am telling you the truth. I’m the one you’ve been texting with all this time. Me.”

Castiel knew it wasn’t true. He knew it wasn’t making any sense. And yet, there was a distinct note of truth in Dean’s voice, just enough for Castiel to contemplate his statement.

And the moment he did, however briefly, Castiel was ready to explode.

“No! We are not—haven’t you made a fool out of me enough as it is? Stop saying this!” Overwhelmed, Castiel felt sick and his whole body was shaking. He dropped the phone on an armchair and wrapped his arms over his chest, hugging himself. He tried to control his breathing.

Dean took a step towards him, obviously wanting to help and comfort him, but Castiel wanted none of it. He immediately stepped back behind the armchair, as he shot him an angry look.

“Why are you doing this? I don’t understand why—I need to leave. I—I can’t stay here.” He reached for his bag, which was resting on the counter.

“Cas, no, please. Wait, you can’t—there’s still a storm outside.” He gently grabbed his hand to stop him.

But Castiel immediately moved his hands away.

“Get off, Dean.”

“Off, I’m off,” he said, lifting his hands. “Sorry. I just—please, I know you’re angry. I would be too. I—but I’ll explain everything. There’s—there’s something you should see—know—and I—shit!” he yelled in frustration. He lowered his head, with his hands resting on his waist. He took a moment to decide what to do next, as Castiel, fury boiling inside him, stood perfectly still awaiting his answer with great impatience.

Dean took a deep breath and made his way to his office again. A few minutes later, he came back holding a frame.

At first, Castiel thought it was a framed photograph. A large one like people often used for professional portraits.

But when Dean turned it around to show Castiel what it was, his knees nearly gave out.

“No.”

His jaw dropped as he stared at his own painting.

The painting in itself hadn’t been anything extraordinary. In fact, it appeared to be almost unfinished when compared to his other works. It simply conveyed a man sitting in the dark, at the edge of a bed, his back turned to the audience, glancing slightly to his side, with one hand resting on the empty space next to him.

His face was undiscernible. Purposely done so. With dark tones and cold colors. Mainly blue and grey. Very unlike his style. But Castiel had thought that it had fitted the subject of the painting perfectly.

Michael. _Enochian51415_.

He had begun this painting back in September on a night when Michael had been feeling particularly blue about their situation, and having no other means to help their issue, undertaking this painting had been the only thing Castiel had thought of to convey what he had felt.

It had been extremely personal.

And now, it was in Dean's grasp.

Dean lay the painting on the one of the armchairs and looked at Castiel apologetically.

Confused by everything, Castiel said, “How do you have this? I sent it to Michael. _Michael Milton_. Who is a real person. I know you say that—he’s real and I’ve been with—no.” He shook his head. “I sent this to his personal address. In Fairbanks. Not—not to Dean Winchester in Juneau or— _here_ ,” he said, gesturing at the cabin. His voice was breaking and his chest was heavy. “Dean, explain. Everything. _Now_. Because I—none of—I know you’re lying but I—I—”

Dean swallowed hard and, keeping his distances as to not upset Castiel further, he gestured for him to take a seat.

Aggravated, Castiel nonetheless sat on the free armchair, while Dean sat at the edge of the other one, making sure to not damage the painting.

With both of them seated, Dean cleared his throat, as he weighed his words for a moment.

“I—this is difficult. I’m not really sure where to—” he cleared his throat once more, and then said, “I always liked your work. The paintings you’ve been posting online. I came across it one day because of the fan art. I had never commented before because…I don’t know why. I know people post things to share them, so it’s not like they don’t expect comments, but for some reason, when something resonates with me or I just thoroughly enjoy it, I get discouraged from saying so. Even if they are a complete stranger. That’s the part that always weirded me out, actually. That a stranger managed to…I don’t know…reach me? I know it’s stupid and, of course, I don’t necessarily mean in a deep, life altering way, but…”

He took a pause, breathing deeply.

While Castiel certainly had many follow-up questions about this topic, he opted to focus on one problem at the time. So, he asked, “What does that have to do with Michael?”

“I’m getting to it. I promise. So, anyway, I—I looked up your work whenever you’d post something new. And I was always looking forward to it. But I—I never commented. Last spring,” he said in a grave tone, “I was at this bar, The Roadhouse. I know the owner. Practically family. I had had a really awful week. It was the anniversary of my Dad’s death. I was just told they were cutting my hours and that I was passed over for the promotion I was really hoping to get. I even—anyway, I—and I just could not stand the idea of going back to my lousy apartment, so I lingered at the bar a little longer than usual. That’s when Michael arrived.” He repositioned himself slightly on his seat. “You have to understand that I know Michael. Like I told you, I work for Garrison, Co. Hell, nearly everyone I know works at Garrison, Co. And as I mentioned, I used to travel a lot for work. I don’t anymore, because I—I when my Dad got sick, I couldn’t leave as much. It just didn't feel right even if I didn't actually lived with him. But before, if engines suddenly needed maintenance in a remote location, I was it. At any time or day. It was good money, which was why I did it. And often, those planes or remote locations dealt personally with the Miltons. Michael, specifically. So, yeah. I know him. I know who he is. How he treats people. He’s arrogant. Entitled. You know, a fucking dick. Trust me, nobody likes him, but everyone has to tolerate him because he's the boss. He owns us. I really wasn’t kidding when I said that. And he certainly is aware of it. So, when he showed up that night, that was—that was just the last straw of a really shitty day. And the night had just begun. I—I’ll spare you the details of what happened, but just—let’s just say, he kicked me down and he really didn’t need to. I was already there. He didn’t beat me up or anything,” he added at Castiel’s worried expression. “He kept it to verbal harassment, so to speak. And unfortunately, I let him do it. How is it that horrible people always seem to get away with everything?”

Dean took deep breath and ran his hands over his face.

“When I came back home that night…I was so upset. I almost called my brother, Sam, but it was the middle of the night. I knew I just needed to go to sleep and I’d feel better in the morning. But I just felt so awful. And I was also massively drunk. And that’s when I had the stupid idea to go online. And there you were. You had posted a new fan art, inspired by the latest episode of _Dr. Sexy_. And the next thing I knew, I was pouring my heart out. Not about me, but about you. I just—I was drunk, but I was honest. About how I felt about your work. And then, when they asked for my name to be able to leave a comment, in my drunken delusion, I panicked and I wrote the only one that came to my stupid mind: Michael Milton.”

Castiel shook his head. “Dean, come on. You seriously expect me to believe this?”

“I know. It’s ridiculous. It’s so stupid, I—I don’t even know what to say.” He leaned forwards. “But I swear that’s what happened. I mean, it was supposed to be one time. I had finally commented like I had wanted to. Who cares if I pretended to be someone else, right? But then you replied. And then I found myself creating an email account and another username just for that. And then—God, everything spun out of control. Every day I wanted to tell you. But the longer I waited, I—I just couldn’t. And no matter how much I lo—I kept reminding myself that even if I told you, our situation wouldn’t change. And I figured that because of that, you’d eventually grow tired of me.”

“If that’s the case, then please explain why on earth did you propose to me? Didn’t you think I would have noticed you lied about everything? Like what was that? When everything else failed you—”

“I didn’t.”

“Didn’t what? Thought that I—”

“I didn’t propose.”

Castiel did not move a muscle. He held his breath and stared at Dean, convinced he had misheard him.

“What?”

“I didn’t propose to you,” he repeated.

And now, Castiel was back to being furious. Clenching his jaw, he reached for his phone and accessed his text messages, looking for proof that he had not completely lost his mind. And there it was. _Will you marry me?_ Clear as day. He lifted his phone to show Dean. “If that’s you I’ve been talking with all this time, how the hell do you explain this?”

Dean swallowed hard and shifted on his seat. “The painting. You sent the painting to Michael a couple of weeks before Thanksgiving. You sent it with a letter. You were very…descriptive. Obviously, Michael figured out someone had been impersonating him. In a way. And he was hell bent on knowing who it was.”

“Okay, but—if I, myself, didn’t even know about you, how could he? And that does not explain the—”

“A lot of the things I told you in our conversation was about Michael. Since I had signed it with his family name and everything, I had to make sure it made sense too afterwards.”

“To carry on with your lies, you mean,” hissed Castiel.

“But I didn’t—most of everything I said was obviously the truth, Cas. How I felt about you, but about myself too. You mentioned in your letter how you’d like me to send you a picture of me with my car, a '67 Chevy Impala. I told you before, I know Michael. We know each other. It could have been anyone else. But he knew of one person who owned that car. And it certainly wasn’t him. He showed up at my apartment with the painting and the letter, demanding an explanation. I had no choice but to tell him what I had done. I apologized and begged him to let me tell you. But he—he didn’t agree. He demanded that I cease all contact with you, that I hand over the email address, passwords and any accounts of social media I had used to communicate with you, including the recovery email and my phone. He threatened my job and to even charge me for identity theft if I didn’t.”

Castiel’s stomach dropped. “That’s why you just stopped texting for ten days.”

“I had no choice. I did what he asked,” said Dean, tearing up. “It drove me nuts, but I thought he would just tell you, and once that was done and he wouldn’t be able to hold it over my head anymore, I’d do everything to get you back. But—but that’s not what happened.”

And then, finally understanding, Castiel shut his eyes, as he felt like the biggest idiot who ever walked the earth.

“He proposed.” He lowered his eyes, unable to look at Dean any more. “You didn’t even—but why? Why would he do that?”

“Because he's a cruel asshole and he wanted to get back at me," said Dean in a wavering voice. "I’m so sorry, Cas. I—I heard that Michael had done something and that you were on your way, but I didn’t know he—I thought he had told you or—but then on the plane, you clearly had never heard of Dean Winchester and you still had no idea who I was. And then you told me that you were engaged, I—for a second I almost wished you meant to someone else entirely that I just didn't know. Back home, I mean. But then you confirmed it was Michael. I just didn't know he had proposed."

With his eyes glued to the floor, Castiel remained still for a very long time, mulling everything over. While the scenario that Dean was presenting him offered certain explanations, especially regarding the out-of-the-blue proposal, there were still incoherent elements attached to it.

Enough to perhaps contradict his story.

“Cas? Can you—what are you thinking? You believe me, right? That it’s me?”

“I don’t know, Dean. I don’t know anything anymore. Even if what you say is true, about Michael and that you’re Enochian51415, then it simply proves that you lied about everything else afterwards. And I don’t just mean you pretending to be Michael for more than six months, which is already embarrassing enough as it is. No, this also includes the entire fucking time I was here. _With you_. God, Dean. It’s my fifth day here and the only reason why you finally told me who you are is because I found your stupid phone. Were you ever going to tell me? It’s not like you didn’t have the opportunities. The first night. When we met. This morning. But no. You just stood there and asked me questions about _Michael_? What the actual hell! Why? And how did you even know? You said you heard Michael had done something and that I was on my way to him. How?”

“A friend of mine works personally with Michael. He didn’t have the whole scoop, but he knew enough. And when you arrived in Juneau on Wednesday night, you called Michael to let him know you were delayed. _Called_ him. Not text. Donatello, my friend, screens Michael’s calls. He obviously couldn’t interfere with you, but he let me know that you were on your way to meet Michael. I just learned about the whole proposal thing once I met you, as I said.”

“Okay…but what about the plane? And Benny?”

“Partial luck. I know a lot of the pilots and the airport staff. I asked some of them to be on the lookout. I was trying to reach you before you left. Since everything was overbooked, at first, I thought I’d have a shot. And just as I was about to leave, Benny informed me of a last-minute passenger. So, I begged him to wait for me. I grabbed my suitcase—I always have one ready. Old habit. And I immediately called Donna to let her know of the situation. I was already planning on coming here this weekend but not the whole—just the weekend. And I knew she was supposed to leave that morning, bu—anyway. And then, I just…showed up at the airport and there you were.”

“Wait, the weekend and—so…you aren’t on your vacation?”

Dean swallowed hard. “No. I called in sick, left a message to my boss and I just…left.”

“Dean.”

“I know. I’m probably fired. But given that I’m talking to you now, when Michael forbid me to, I’m probably fired anyway.”

Castiel drew a deep breath. He felt absolutely exhausted and disgusted by everything. He stared blankly in front of him, feeling nauseous. Like a fool. Cheated. And ridiculed.

And all he wanted in that moment was to be left alone.

Not knowing what else to do, he stood up and said, “I think I need to lie down for a while. I—I need to think. And sleep. I don’t know.”

Dean nodded after standing up in his turn. He stepped closer, lifted his arm, reaching for him, but let it drop, as if he reminded himself to not cross a line. “Get some shut eyes and when you’re feeling up for it, we can continue—we can eat.”

And without any additional words, Castiel ambled down to Dean’s bedroom, shut the door and sat at the edge of the bed.

He began comparing the stories. Trying to remember what Michael had said in his emails and messages within the last few months.

The life he told was very different than what Dean had told him.

The professions. The family. The lifestyles.

And yet, perhaps not as drastically as he initially thought when he considered certain aspects. Some overlapped. Like traveling. Enochian51415 had mentioned that traveling was a constant struggle to shape relationships. Which had been more or less the words Dean had used as well.

And while Enochian51415 had not elaborated too deeply about his family, he had mentioned a brother. Not by name. Only his "younger brother." Michael Milton had three siblings, two brothers and a sister. All younger than him. But every time Enochian51415 had mentioned it, Castiel always had the impression he spoke of one in particular. 

In the past, Castiel had simply deduced that Enochian51415 was closer to one of them. But now, the reason was obvious. Dean had been talking about Sam. His only sibling. 

Reconciling the two identities of Dean and Enochian51415 into one was tricky, but not impossible. In fact, the more Castiel thought about it, the more it became undeniable.

Which also meant that Dean had been the recipient of all those texts. Of those cute morning texts. And supportive afternoons. Of silly jokes and eager discussions of their days.

Those confessions. Those late night texts. Of intimate details and thoughts. And some very _graphic_ ideas.

Dean had been the one.

He had known it all along.

And he hadn’t said a thing.

And now, even though it had been Castiel who had exposed him, he felt like he was the one with the dirty secret. Or worse, that _he_ was the dirty secret.

Especially once he considered the fact that Dean had made him rethink his whole relationship with Michael. Enochian51415. _Dean_. And Castiel had felt guilty over it. Guilty for enjoying his time with Dean. Guilty for having been tempted.

Knowing that they were both the same person should have brought him some form of relief from that fact, but it didn’t.

He just felt confused.

Because even if he knew the truth, and he knew his feelings for Dean were not misplaced and were actually true, it was still complicated.

It was as though nothing and everything had changed all at once.

Castiel lay there, letting his feelings clash against one another for a big long while. He had no idea how long he had stayed there, but at some point Dean knocked on the door, entered the room, and slowly sat at the edge of the bed next to him.

“Cas, how are you feeling?”

Castiel lowered his eyes.

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. “I just wanted to tell you that I reached out to Benny. He can be here first thing tomorrow morning if you want. I checked with Rufus and—anyway, the storm is finally calming down. Devereaux is already taking care of clearing the road.”

Castiel remained silent at this update, not sure what to say about it.

“Cas? Please, tell me how you feel. Just, anything. What you’re thinking or—even if you’re angry. Especially if you’re angry.”

Enochian51415 and his guilt, thought Castiel.

“You were right,” croaked Castiel. “About how interactions between people in real life and online are not the same thing.”

Dean bit his lips.

“Even if none of this misunderstanding had occurred, I knew meeting you would have its adjustments. Because it’s not the same. And because I wanted more than what we had. But now that…after everything that happened…and that you weren’t even the one who asked me to—Dean, I just don’t understand why you didn’t say anything. Why you kept pretending you were Michael, before and once you met me. Why? Tell me this at least.”

“I did tell you—”

But before he could finish the rest of his sentence, Castiel sat up and interrupted him. “No, there’s something else. I sort of get that you panicked and you couldn’t guess where all this would head at first, but I know there’s something else. Because then, why would you have hesitated once you met me? That was what you wanted, no? To tell me the truth? But you held on to it. Why?”

Dean took a deep breath. “Because I didn’t know how you’d react. Not—I don’t mean just about the fact that I had lied, though that was a concern, of course, but I mean about me. You—you thought you were talking with Michael. Who has potential. Money. A way out. I’m—even laying out a future with him was complicated because of the different locations. Once he would have been compared with me… I’m a joke, Cas. I can’t go anywhere. I knew you’d be disappointed.”

“You’re right about that. I am disappointed,” said Castiel, feeling a pang in his chest. “Just not in the way you thought. All this is telling me is that you didn’t trust me. And now, I can’t see how I could believe one word coming from you.”

Dean reached for Castiel’s hand and pulled himself closer to him. And Castiel let him. 

And since Castiel hadn’t protested, Dean shifted himself closer still. He carefully moved his hand to Castiel’s back, up to his right shoulder, nearly embracing him.

Castiel turned to him and their eyes locked. His heartbeat was racing. And their lips were inches apart. Castiel could feel Dean’s breath on him. Feel the urge to lean in. To slide his left hand around his waist to pull him towards him. And to finally lose himself to him.

Just like he had wanted to do on that morning a day or so ago.

Just like he had thought of doing many times since then.

Just like he had imagined doing countless of times whenever he had pondered on meeting Michael. Enochian51415. Dean.

But he stayed still. Whatever he needed to push himself over that line, he didn’t have it within him. And the moment he realized it, judging by Dean’s expression, and the sorrow in his eyes, he knew he didn’t have it in him either.

He slowly pulled away, repositioned himself at the edge of the bed and they both stared in front of them, feeling crestfallen.

“So that’s that, then.”

And Castiel lay down again. And he heard Dean say, “I’ll let Benny know,” just before he left the room.

Thus, the next morning, after a long, awkward and sleepless night, Dean managed to bring Castiel to the station as he had promised to do.

Just before Castiel was to board the plane, they stood in front of each other, not sure what to say. A handshake seemed odd. A hug seemed too much. Goodbyes were definitive and painful.

And the idea of a goodbye kiss crept into his mind. But the thought that his first and only kiss with Dean would have been the one of a goodbye kiss, depressed him immensely.

And just as he forced the notion out of his head, Dean leaned in and kissed him. It had been quick and to the point. But he had meant it, and the hunger of it resonated down to Castiel’s knees. And just like that, it was over. Dean broke the kiss, said softly, “I’m sorry,” and walked away.

And as he watched Dean hurrying down to the truck, Castiel was sure he had caught Dean wiping off tears.

He stayed on his spot for a second, filled with hesitation, as his throat tightened, but he then turned around and climbed the stairs to board the plane.


	7. Chapter Seven: With All My Love

Castiel was leaning on the counter as he waited for the water to reach the correct temperature. It was Monday morning, the day before Christmas Eve, and he hated being reminded of it.

Nearly two weeks had passed since his return.

Two weeks of radio silence.

Two weeks with a hollow heart.

Two whole weeks of Castiel constantly wondering if he had made a mistake.

“Cas?”

“Hmm?” he said, still staring in front of him.

“You sure you don’t want to head home?” said Gabriel.

“Yes, I’m fine.”

Gabriel observed him attentively, apparently not convinced at all.

“I swear, I’m fine,” he repeated. “Just tired.”

“Yeah, consider me reassured,” said Gabriel, squinting at him. “Look, this was, um—”

“Nuts,” suggested Castiel. “That’s the word, right?”

“Agreed. And I feel like I only got the two-lines synopsis of the whole story. I really don’t think it would be a bad idea if you go rest at home for today. Um, for a couple of days, even. I had agreed to man the place until you came back—whenever that was—and I meant it. I swear, we’ll be fine.”

“Gabe,” said Castiel, letting out a deep sigh. “Please, don’t tell me to go home. I can’t. I—I need the distraction, okay? Otherwise, all I’ll do is stare at the walls and feel awful about everything.”

This had been what Castiel had mostly done during the first three days after his return. And every night. And the previous weekend when Gabriel had insisted that he took some additional time off as well. But now, Castiel couldn’t do it anymore.

“All right," said Gabriel. "If that’s what you want. But can you, um, I—I don’t know how to say this without sounding like an asshole.”

Castiel lifted an eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Please, tell me what I can do to cheer you up? Because I genuinely want you to feel better, and also because anyone looking at you right now would be convinced that if depression was contagious, this would be the place to catch it.”

“Ha-ha. I—I’ll be fine. I’m making my favourite,” he said, pointing at the kettle. “That should help. Want one?”

“Absolutely. And good. But if—if this is too much or—tell me?”

“Will do. Stop worrying,” he said to himself as much as Gabriel.

But once the shop opened, and the lively customers were coming in and out of the shop, Castiel felt better. And his mood stayed that way until right after lunch, when the store seemed to have hit a dead zone all of a sudden. Besides one client, who came in near the end of lunch hour and remained seated quietly by the window, reading, no one else visited the shop for the following hour.

Typically, Castiel was always relieved by these moments of respite. They were perfect to prepare for the late afternoon and early evening rush, and for him to catch his breath.

But not this time. Even if he cleaned the tables, swept the floor, and occupied himself with refilling some of the tea jars that had been emptied during lunch, he was still left with too much time on his hands.

Which always brought his mind circling back to Dean.

Wondering how his day was going. Where he was. And what happened to him.

He sighed, and taking a sip from his afternoon tea, Castiel heard the door’s bell ring.

“Welcome to _Heavenly Leaves_ ,” he said, attempting to sound enthusiastic. “How may I help you?”

“I was told that this was the best place to get tea with genuine care and warm service. Not to mention the kick-ass art.”

Castiel held his breath and instantly felt his heart pounding. Trying to remain calm, he slowly lifted his eyes, and saw Dean, standing in front of him.

“Hi, Cas.”

“Dean," he breathed, unsure if he was happy or upset. "I—what—what are you doing here?” 

Swallowing hard, Dean said, “I missed you.”

“But—you—we said that—”

“I know,” he said, nodding. “And—and if, after today, you still want to cut ties, I swear, I’ll do it. I’ll never bother you ever again. But I had to try one last time. I—I know I fucked everything up and—I—I thought—”

As Dean was tripping on his words, Castiel felt panic rising in his chest. His throat tightening. His hands were shaking.

“Dean, please. This is—it’s already been so difficult as it is. We can’t just—we agreed to stop because of—of everything. And the situation hasn’t changed. I still live here and you—you said—”

“I know,” said Dean, cutting him off. “But that’s why I came here. To tell you that a lot happened and I—I don’t live in Juneau anymore.”

Castiel blinked. His eyes shifting from one side to the other, he then said, “Are you saying you—what are you saying? That you live here, now?”

“Um, no. I—not here, no.”

“Then where? Tulpa? And what happened with your job?”

Dean took a deep breath. “I—I don’t work for the airline anymore.”

“You quit?” asked Castiel, knowing full well that is wasn't the case.

“No. Though I should have, considering. But no, I was fired.”

Castiel, holding his breath, stared at him. “Was it because you left abruptly and—or something else?”

“No, my boss actually helped me out. I never took vacations or sick days, so he vouched for me, but in the end it didn’t matter. I got, um, let go on the account that they were cutting off entire departments. Which is a big flat lie. Especially since, as far as I know, I was the only one to be let go for that reason.”

Castiel swore under his breath. Before he could ask additional questions, the door’s bell rang once more, with three ladies stepping inside, shaking off the snow from their coats.

And without having had the time to call for him, Gabriel appeared next to Castiel out of nowhere.

“How about you take your break, Cas? You two can continue your conversation and I’ll serve the customers.”

Dean had awkwardly backed away from the counter and headed towards the front of the shop a moment to give room for the customers. Castiel looked at Gabriel in a suspicious manner and whispered to him, “Were you there listening this whole time?”

“Listening to what?” he said, grinning. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. _But_ , whatever it is you are referring to, I think it would be wise to hear what your kind visitor has to say.” And he tapped sympathetically on his shoulder, only to then nudge him away from the cash register.

Castiel signaled Dean to take a seat at one of the armchairs by the windows. He poured a cup of tea for Dean and grabbed his own. When he reached the seats, Dean had taken the opportunity to take off his coat to feel a little more at ease and graciously accepted the cup Castiel handed to him.

He took a deep breath and continued his story.

“So, as I was saying, I was let go. And even though I haven’t checked yet, I’m pretty sure finding employment at any airline will somehow be a problem.”

“You think he would go to that far?”

“I’m surprised he didn’t do more. But then, as much as I was really fucking panicking, I was also kind of relieved. I don’t have to answer to him anymore.”

“But Dean, your job…What—what are you going to do? You said you had difficulty before.”

“Oh, I was freaking out, for sure. But then a few people I knew started to offer me jobs in Juneau. Like my friend Ash, who knew about a gig in construction and said it was practically a done deal if I wanted it. But after a quick conversation with Sam, he convinced me to not do that.”

“Why?”

“Sam suggested that I come to live with him and his wife in Lawrence. Like me, he was almost relieved I was fired because it finally gave me an excuse to leave Juneau. If I would have wanted to stay there because I had a life and I was comfortable there, that would have been another story, but as you know…that’s not the case. Like you said, I’ve been struggling. And while I’m really going to miss everyone there, I knew Sam was right. I wanted to get out of there for years. I was just…stuck.”

Castiel nodded.

“So, I said I’d pay my part of the rent to my roommates until they found someone else, I packed everything that mattered to me in my car and, with some of the money I had set aside, I drove to Kansas.”

“From Juneau? But that must have taken you a week?”

“Um, a _few_ days, yes. I did good time. Honestly, the long drive was cleansing. It gave me a lot of time to think. Anyway, I arrived in Lawrence, and Sam and Jess insisted that I stay there with them as long as I want. I probably won’t stay long though. Just long enough until I get my own place. And one of Sam’s neighbors has an auto shop and said to give him a call after the holidays if I’m interested. It’s not what I used to do, but I still know cars because of Dad, so that’s a nice alternative.”

Castiel let out a deep sigh of relief. He took a sip of his tea, pondering on it all.

“I’m very glad it worked out for you.”

“Thank you.”

And they stared at each other, knowing full well that Dean’s story was not quite done as it had not explained his presence in Chicago.

And when Dean still wasn’t speaking, which was worrisome to Castiel, he said, “And what about why you're here, Dean? We said that—why are you here?”

He looked down as he shifted on his seat.

“I’m sorry. About everything. I know I messed up. And I know we agreed to—but I can’t stop thinking about you.” He let out a deep sigh. “And while my situation improved—meaning that I’m not on the other side of the country—I know it’s still complicated. But if you want, I was wondering if—if we could start over. Still text, but actually talk too. Like phone calls and skype. And I’d like to drive here once in a while if you want. Lawrence is a few hours away. It’s not the same city, but it’s not Alaska. It’s doable now. And I know I probably sound like a crazy person right now, and I know we have a lot of work to do, mostly on my end—I am fully aware that I still have a lot to answer for—but Cas, I—not trying, not driving here to tell you how much I fucking love you and I want you in my life, that would make me the biggest idiot ever. There are so many things I regret about all this. I had to at least try that.”

“Dean, I—I don't know. I don't know if I can put myself through this again. Why? Why would we? Why do you want to?” 

“Because you were ready to do it for me. Even though I wasn’t the one who had asked you, you said yes, Cas. And you had every reason to say no,” he said, gesturing around them. "But you said yes. I have to believe there was a reason," he said with hopeful eyes.

Castiel was confused more than ever. 

Did he love Dean? Yes.

Had the whole ordeal left a bitter taste in his mouth which he feared would never disappear? Also, yes.

Too much and not enough had happened all at once.

“Dean, I'm—I'm not sure about this."

"You have a lot of reasons to hesitate. But can you tell me which one is the biggest?" asked Dean in a kind voice.

"I know the location issue might be easier to tackle now, but it’s still long distance. We already went through this. And if we continue this…I’d—I hate saying it like this because it sounds like an ultimatum, but you’d have to prove it to me that it would be different. But then, it just turns into you proving things and—and that’s not fair either. That’s not what I want. That’s not what this was before. I want what we had before, or what we were hoping to have. And I don’t know if that’s possible anymore.”

“But do you want to find out?”

And now, Dean had asked the one question Castiel had desperately attempted to avoid. Because the answer scared him. And Castiel lowered his eyes, almost fighting back the tears.

Dean reached for his hand. “Cas, the reason why I hadn’t suggested any of this before—before we met and before Michael—was because I thought I was a dead end for you. I thought I would never be able to leave that place. That I would never live up to who you had hoped I was. And Michael….But I was wrong.” He paused a moment and then said, “I know I’m asking a lot after everything, but I’d really love a chance to make it up to you.”

Brushing his thumb over Dean's hand, Castiel weighed on his words. “If I was to say yes to this suggestion, then what? We just text and talk like before?”

“For starters, yes. If you want. But I also have another proposition. I—this is why I came here. I know you’re probably working and it’s last minute, but I wanted to invite you to Lawrence for Christmas. The drive is six hours, but I'll drive you there and back myself, based on the schedule that fits you.”

Castiel blinked. “You want us to spend Christmas together. Won’t—what about Sam and Jess?”

“Sam and Jess would be thrilled to have you over, and there’s more than enough room for you to stay. The moment I ran the idea by them, as it is their house, even though they keep telling me I live there now, Sam practically pushed me out of the door to come and get you. They really want to meet you. And on our way there, you can ask me anything you want. In person. I—is—what do you think? And—or we can stay here if you prefer too," Dean added. "I just…I didn’t want to impose myself, and I thought inviting you to share with me, for real, it would—I—”

But as Dean was stumbling on his words, Castiel had already made his decision. "I’d love to go with you. To meet Sam and Jessica. To visit your hometown. And to be with you at Christmas.”

“Ye—yeah? You would? It’s not—that’s okay?”

“I want to, Dean." Castiel nodded, unable to look away.

“If you had said no, I would have helped him kidnap you,” said Gabriel, who had apparently been standing by the table. As both Castiel and Dean regained composure after being startled by his presence, Gabriel said to Dean, “Please, take him away from this place. He needs a break anyway.”

Thus, within an hour, Castiel and Dean were on their way to Lawrence. And just like it had been at Dean’s cabin, the trip was a little awkward at first, but soon enough, once they had settled in, and they began talking as they usually did and they became more comfortable around each other. Smiles and looks were exchanged. It was awkward, but not uncomfortable.

And by the time they arrived in Lawrence, they were holding hands.

Sam and Jessica were kind and welcoming, and Castiel was happy to know that Dean would be with them for a little while.

Even if that meant he wouldn’t be with him.

The four of them had fun telling ghost stories for the better part of the evening, and eventually the stories became more personal. Funny anecdotes about childhood, then teasing stories about the awkward teenage years, as they were sharing laughs and sipping on delicious mulled wine.

And after a wonderful evening, knowing that Jessica and Sam had a long day of work waiting for them the next day, they called it a night.

And Castiel was so glad to have been there.

Just before going to bed, he knocked on Dean’s door just before midnight to wish him goodnight. A few nervous words became a short conversation in Dean’s doorway, and soon enough, Castiel and Dean pursued their discussion at ease in Dean’s room. Where they sat comfortably next to each other, telling each other more about their time apart.

And how they wished it would no longer be the case.

They spend most of the night whispering. Laughing. And then it turn into something else as well. And while Castiel had been given his own private room at the Winchester’s household for his visit, on that night, and on the ones that followed, he did not sleep there.

He woke up every morning with a smile on his face, and with Dean sleeping next to him, looking peaceful and content.

And on Christmas morning, when Castiel woke, it was with Dean watching him tenderly, and slowly sliding a Christmas present to him.

A very small box. A small box that usually held one specific jewelry item. It was tied in a bright red ribbon. With a note attached to it.

_For when we’re ready._

_No matter how long it takes us._

_From Dean,_

_With all my love._

Castiel stared at Dean and felt warmth and fuzzy feelings instantly spread in his chest.

And although Castiel didn’t say yes right away, and waited a few months before doing so, in that moment, there was no doubt in his mind that he eventually would. And he and Dean shared a sweet lingering Christmas kiss, the first of many.

And by the following year, they exchanged Christmas gifts as husbands, in the coziness of their own home in Chicago, where Sam and Jessica were their guests, as well as other friends celebrating with them.

And Dean and Castiel always perceived Christmas time as their anniversary.

Their promise to each other.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed this little story.
> 
> A massive thank you to [Danica](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Danica_Dust/pseuds/Danica_Dust)
> 
> And I'm on [Tumblr](https://thefandomsinhalor.tumblr.com) if you feel like saying hello :)  
> Thank you!! And I hope you have a nice day!!


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